


Pinched

by VioletBehaviour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate universe - Mafia, Angst, Blood, Character Death, Conspiracy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explosions, Feud, Flashbacks, Forbidden Love, Loss, M/M, Manipulation, Modern Day Mafia, Not Happy, Oral Sex, Pinched, Public Blow Jobs, Romeo and Juliet References, Sex, drive by
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 05:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18088484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletBehaviour/pseuds/VioletBehaviour
Summary: Things were getting dire, a collision of worlds. When Draco loses everything, he's forced to accept his fate, but not before he takes down the whole organization with him.





	1. Hammer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FangQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/gifts).



> ☠ Warning - This fic features minor mentions of suicide through means of dialogue and displays graphic esque scenes with major character deaths. Please take caution while reading through this fic. If any of these trouble you, perhaps this fic isn’t appropriate for you. ☠
> 
> Special shoutout to the beautiful FangQueen for not only the amazing prompt that ended up taking a completely _different_ direction than intended, but for running this fest all on your own! You are everything and I love you to bits.
> 
> Prompt 8: He must have some kind of Romeo and Juliet complex, because Draco can’t conceive of any other reason why he’d be attracted to a member of the Dumbledore’s Army Gang.
> 
> My alpha, VinoAmore, has been there since day one hashing out ideas one by one and sticking with me during the whole process. Thanks, babes. I love you endlessly! Your input on this has been life changing ha You complete me, babes!
> 
> My beta, Mahawna, I always put through hell, so I am thankful for the parts she has been able to work through. I love you so much!

 

 

 

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌ ⁍ ☠ ⁌ ⁍ ☠ ⁌**

_Pair of Mafias, both stubborn in their ways_  
_In busy London, where the events unfold_  
_From years of enmity to a lover’s gaze_  
_Where secrets lie and feelings go untold_  
_From within the corruption will soon fall_  
_Star crossed lovers are lost in their desire_  
_The outcome is clear though the guidance is flawed_  
_Confessions bring light, down with the empire_

**⁍ ☠ ⁌ ⁍ ☠ ⁌ ⁍ ☠ ⁌**

* * *

 

Tears spilled from his eyes as the smoke caused them to burn behind his lids, remnants of ash and embers falling down around him in alabaster flurries. The sensation as they brushed his skin felt like a thousand tiny needles, puncturing the layers of flesh without yield. He could hardly breathe, the smoke filling his lungs and causing him to choke with each staggered inhale of breath.

The surrounding debris lining the once standing warehouse caused the fire to spread all the faster. Draco fell to his knees as the shock of what happened settled in. They’d been separated just before the building ignited into a blistering ball of flames, and he immediately thought the worst.

It was only a matter of time before both sides collided this way, the risks of growing close to one of _them_ being the final spark to light the fuse. The chaos of events leading up to this fiery end was already too much to bare, and now… now he fears he’d lost everything.

He stood and fought against the stinging in his eyes, searching the grounds frantically while he clenched tightly to his shoulder, the fibers of his shirt burned into his exposed and blistering skin. He had to find him, had to make sure all of this wasn’t for nothing. He _needed_ to ensure Ron was safe, despite the rushing thoughts of dread repeating the countless discomfit scenarios in his mind.

Another burst of flames from a nearby building caused him to trip and stumble, the grip on his arm growing tighter as he felt sweat form on his brow, a chill rushing down his spine - an unwelcome contrast to the surrounding hell he was standing in. This was nothing what he imagined when he came to see Ron this evening, their unconventional _normalcy_ before it all came to this fiery end.

He shook his head, his arm was stinging under his grip, but otherwise he felt numb, a part of him dead already. He took a few staggered steps further into the chaos, an unparalleled sensation fueling his own fire of determination deep within himself he refused to give up hope just yet. Not until he found him. Bodies were scattered lifeless on the ground, others blurred shadows as they scurried frantically around him, his eyes only truly focused on one face, one man. It wasn’t until he finally saw the flicker of red hair, his lover lying sprawled out a few feet in front of him did the final string pluck from his chest, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach.

It was like a nightmare, everything around him happening too fast for him to react, finding himself unable to move quickly enough. His legs were weighted sand, resisting and fighting his desperation to push forward, causing the muscles to quiver in protest. He was screaming, the shouts drowned out under the tidal wave of the roaring flames around him. Still, he cried out his name.

 _Almost there_.

The angry yellows and oranges of the fire clashed against the flashing blue of arriving emergency vehicles, the place crawling with cops as all fields responded to the explosion in record time. _Almost as if they knew it was going to happen_. In Draco’s mind, he knew they probably had. But he didn’t focus on any of that now, he couldn’t. Ron needed him, his eyes half open as he layed still on the ground. The frame of his body appeared to almost dance under the waves of heated flames, a cruel and mocking trick to Draco’s eyes as he tried and failed desperately to run to his side. His legs screamed in opposition, his shoulder burned, but still he pushed forward, half running, half crawling to get to his lover’s side. The only person left in this place he truly cared about.

He was within an arm’s reach of Ron when he tripped, his feet stumbling beneath him as his face collided with the hard ground. Shards of metal debris cut into his cheek and he spat a mouthful of blood into the dirt, a lingering trail of saliva hanging from his bottom lip. He cursed himself aloud at his own clumsiness, shakily and painfully fighting to regain his strength. By the time he managed to get back to his feet, he was already being gripped forcefully under his arms, his shoulder on fire as the cops pulled and dragged his mostly dead weighted body back toward the direction he fought so hard to trudge from.

Draco kicked and fought, his eyes falling on the unmoving body of Ron growing smaller and smaller as they carried him away. He was still shouting, his throat a painful reminder that he never stopped. He didn’t stop hollering out to Ron, desperate for him to get up, but the distance caused his vision to obscure, no longer able to see his lover under the thick smoke and ash ridden air. His shouts continued, along with the kicking of his limbs to resist the tugs and pulls from the surrounding men in uniform.

 _He couldn't stop_.

It wasn’t until he felt knuckles collide with his jaw did his voice finally crack into silence. Then the world went black.

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

Draco faded in and out of consciousness, his mind falling deeper and deeper into a darkness. Ron’s face materialized before him, smiling his perfect and slanted grin; the one that made Draco feel at home. Fragments of events flashed in and out of focus and he scrunched his eyes tight, a distant burn in his arm slowly pulling him out of the safety of darkness. Draco struggled to keep the image of Ron clear, obscure visions bedim into a vignette dissolve around his lover’s face. Every time he would reach out to brush his fingers along Ron’s cheek, he’d never feel the warm flesh of his freckled skin, only cold air, a blurry fog where his face should be.

He wanted to scream, his throat closed and constricted in a way he knew no sound could escape, and he dropped his arm. Ron was still smiling, but it was haunting; distant, and God forgive him, lifeless. He felt tears in his eyes as the scene shifted to the fiery yard with Ron laying on the ground. His smile gone, replaced with that of hollowed shock, slightly agape and lacking the dimples on his cheeks. That’s when he remembered it was all real. The explosion, the events that led up to the end - Ron’s death.

 _Fuck_.

He heard his heart beating loudly in his chest, a cruel conflicting joke, knowing his lover’s own heart’s song had ended. He didn’t want to believe it, refused to grasp the possibility he was left alone after all they had been through. He’d lost so much already, his life flipped upside down at every possible turn but he always had Ron be there to steady him back on his feet again as they spun out of control _together_.

Another tug at his arm as the sensation stabbed beneath his skin caused another stir to arise from him, another pull in the direction he knew Ron _wasn’t_. That taunting pump of his heart fading, replaced with a constant short pattern of _beeping_ he knew didn’t belong in his thoughts. He didn’t dare look, wouldn’t leave the darkness to face the cruel reality he was alone.

Voices were speaking around him, and he strained to ignore them, calling out to Ron subconsciously as he longed for him to fade back into his view. He was cursing the fact he was selfish before, craving more than what he had and missing that lopsided grin in front of him. He was there now, partially, but with every blasted _beep_ the scene would flash to him laying on the ground again, then to the voices, then back to Ron in the darkness. Finally, agonisingly slow, Ron’s mouth moved as if to speak, and Draco longed to hear his voice again.

“ _Wake up, Draco_.”

 

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

“Mr Malfoy. Good. You’re waking up.”

Draco squinted as his eyes slowly fluttered open, the harsh fluorescent lighting causing spots to dance across his vision. His head felt heavy, like he had drank an entire bottle of cheap whiskey, and he moved to hold his head. He was thrown off guard when he realized his right hand jerked back halfway, a sharp pain cutting and pulling at his wrist.

“Ah, yes. That.” Said the same voice as before. “You’ll forgive the precautions I’m sure.”

Draco stared at the handcuff around his wrist connecting him to the hospital bed before turning his unsteady gaze towards the man, taking note of the _City of London Police_ badge resting on his belt next to his gun. He dropped his head back down on his bed and stared blankly up at the ceiling through heavily hooded lids, counting the dots on the stained, cheap tiles. The man was speaking to a doctor, Draco catching fragments of their conversation as they spoke of how the drugs are _still impacting his judgement_ and _the burns on his arm aren’t terribly severe_.

The drugs made sense as to why everything was spinning around him, but Draco dared to peer about the room anyway, struggling to keep his eyes open - not that he truly tried to fight off the drowsiness. As his mind slowly slipped back into unconsciousness, Draco caught the silhouetted frame of a man in the back corner of the room, his eyes slowly drifting closed. Before he could contemplate who the shadowy figure could possibly be, his mind gave up and he drifted back off to dream of Ron once more.

When he came to again, he was being forcefully yanked from the sheets, the handcuffs now restraining his hands together, no longer keeping him to the bed itself. The man from earlier was hauling him towards an exit, and Draco stumbled and tripped to keep up with him. He had apparently been awake a few times since their first encounter, the drugs used holding his mind in a fog, because he found himself dressed in a fresh pair of slacks and a black button down shirt.

He didn’t speak, fighting back the retorts of wanting to curse this man for using such unnecessary force, though he assumed it had something to do with his resistance when they initially dragged him off the night before.

 _Away from Ron_.

His shoulder, though only minor burns and cuts now, was throbbing, mostly due to the fact he was being dragged around so roughly. When he shook his head in an attempt to clear it, walking without poise towards the exit of the hospital, he blinked excessively to adjust his eyes, trying to push down and ignore the sensation in his shoulder altogether. It wouldn’t do him any good to dwell on it, knowing he wouldn’t be getting any further treatment for it where he was going. He was partly surprised they treated him at all before taking him to the station, but who was he to question it.

The surprise left him when they entered the parking yard, Draco involuntarily scoffing as he observed his surroundings as the hospital was that of The Skullz’ choosing. It was the only hospital with proper funding because of it, the organization using the knowledge of it’s patients origins as leverage. That was one of their angles, using the Parkinsons’ power over the pharmaceutical market to control the traffic of pricing, rewarding the only hospital in London with a known contract devoted to The City of London Police.

The warehouse where Dumbledore’s Army Gang resided was miles from here, under the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Police Force, a detail Draco did not fail to miss as the door to the police car shut after him. He stared out at the hospital through the barred window as the officer put the car into drive. Draco watched as the tall brick building grew smaller as he was taken the short drive to the police station where he no doubt would be questioned. He knew who it was that would be asking the _real_ questions, the master pulling the strings of the puppets. As the car shifted on the paved road, Draco rested his head on the worn leather seat, thankful the officer didn’t feel obligated to engage in small talk as they made their way towards their destination.

His mind fell back to Ron, the laughter shared between two people who played with fire; pawns on a greater strategized chessboard. He missed the way Ron held him in his arms, finding himself longing for the firm touch of Ron’s grip around his wrist instead of the cold metal stabbing of the handcuffs. The way he would have Draco on his back, panting and begging for Ron to be inside him taunted Draco as he fell further back into a drowsy blank stare. Those expert lips upon his, once warm and inviting now cold, no longer able to curl into that handsome, crooked grin.

The car finally rolled to a stop, jolting Draco awake as the door on his side swung open, the officer yanking him out of the car. Draco was growing tired of being treated with such roughness, a blatant disregard of his rank in society and an abuse of the officer’s actual power. They walked in silence down a narrow hall, a depressing blue hue illuminating the walls and floors as the officer led him into the second door on the right.

The room was plain enough, and unaesthetic to the eyes. In the center of the space sat a single table with two simple metal chairs on either side. The lighting was dark, two low hanging light fixtures positioned like spotlights over the chair Draco assumed would be his throne for the next several hours. The walls were bare, save for a large mirror taking up most of the far side, the other three standing empty, the dark bricks cast in shadow.

The officer led him to the chair, freeing his left hand from the handcuffs only to attach his right to the metal handle, gesturing for Draco to sit down as he did. The man in uniform still hadn’t spoken to him since their time in the hospital, and Draco quirked an eyebrow as he truly studied the man for the first time under a clear mind, watching him intently as he sat down opposite of Draco. He began pulling files from a briefcase on the floor, and Draco absorbed the sight as he took note how the officer’s eyes would dart on occasion towards the mirror on the wall, his golden hair falling and sticking to his forehead as beads of sweat formed on his brow.

“Now, Mr Malfoy. First, I’d like to apologize for the staggered means of travel. I normally don’t handle the transports.” He waited for Draco to acknowledge the apology, but he didn’t oblige, sitting silent and perfectly still, staring at the floor. “Can I get you some coffee?”

Draco’s eyes flicked up to the officer then, narrowing them before jerking his head. His mind was still foggy, and having caffeine in his system caused him to perk up at the mere thought of it. The officer stood abruptly, taking large and quick steps back to the door they entered from and poked out his head. The officer called out his request, hesitating halfway through the open door frame before turning back and closing it again. He paced the room a few times, finally retaking his seat in front of Draco. There was a lingering silence, an uneasy tension permeating from the man when Draco cleared his throat, leaning forward.

“You know my name, _officer_ , but I fear you have me at a disadvantage.” Draco bore his pale gray eyes into the man opposite him, locking him in a gaze. The officer visibly swallowed, thankful for the interruption when the door opened to their left, a man walking in carrying two styrofoam cups, setting them on the table. He seemed to exit as quickly as he came. Draco’s eyes never left the officer, however, purposely aiming to keep the man in a fraught state of mind.

“I’m Officer Goldstein, City of London Police.” He fidgeted with some papers, pausing to clear his throat. “Let’s just get to it, shall we? Mr Malfoy, care to tell me what happened at the warehouse last night? And the purpose of your presence there.”

Draco remained silent for longer than was necessary, contemplating how he wanted to answer. The truth would have been complicatedly simple - a difference in perspectives, a lust for power; and two star crossed lovers just trying to get off. He almost smirked at the memory of a similar topic of conversation, one of the first times he and Ron talked about their _situation_. Had the circumstances been different, he probably would have laughed. But as he continued to stare at Officer Goldstein, he knew he couldn’t tell him that; not directly at least. Draco had been trained to say little to nothing in his line of work, to answer questions with more questions to misdirect and confuse but as he sat with a furrowed brow and a scowl across his face staring at Goldstein, something inside him seemed to crack. It echoed so loudly in his chest as if the floor of the ocean suddenly broke open and drained the water from complete existence, leaving nothing but dry and cracked earth. Ron was dead for all he knew, so he wondered what good his survival training would be when the only person he lived for was gone.

“Mr Malfoy?”.

“No.” Draco heard himself snap back quickly. He was torn between structure and chaos.

“No?”

“Why am I here exactly? Am I being charged with something?” Draco challenged Goldstein with his stance, sitting up in his chair.

“Not yet.” Goldstein shifted uncomfortably, a visible line forming on his forehead. “But I know you’re involved, and I’m anxious to discover just _how_ involved you are.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Involved in _what_ exactly? The explosion?” The defensive instincts were natural, and he struggled to hold back the level of sass in his voice. His demeanor was otherwise calm; collected. He paused, shaking his head, the loss he felt in his chest unrelenting. He once again failed to see the point in fighting anymore. He knew The Skullz had known he was pinched, their arms reaching farther than any other organization in London. He resented the way they left him here to fend for himself, but he’d be fooling himself if he wasn’t surprised. He quickly thought back to the silhouetted man in his hospital room.

 _Fuck it_.

“Mr Malfoy I understand you were there for some time before the explosion took place.” Goldstein seemed to ignore Draco’s question, continuing the initial conversation as if it was actually going the way he anticipated.

Draco flicked his eyes to Goldstein in a cold glare, causing the man to flinch slightly under his scrutiny. After another prolonged moment of uncomfortable silence, Draco allowed his gaze to soften in defeat, slouching slightly while exhaling a breath. If Ron truly was gone as he feared, he’d tell Goldstein everything.

“I was.”

“So I have your cooperation then? To tell me what happened last night?” Goldstein, for the time being, appeared to be pleased with Draco’s response and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back casually.

“I didn’t say that.” The room appeared to close in around Draco, a snitch never truly being in his nature without probable cause. He was a coward overall, he knew that, finding strength in the presence of Ron’s stubborn persona. He tried to imagine him there beside him, picturing every detail of his face to gain strength. Goldstein shifted again, and Draco watched his expression change, growing slightly impatient with Draco’s back and forth. “What I mean is, if you want to know about the explosion, you’ll need to hear the whole story.”

Goldstein’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his arms loosened from across his chest, flicking his eyes between Draco and the mirror.

“R-really? You’re prepared to tell me _everything_?”

“Everything I know, yes. As long as you tell me something first.”

Intrigued, Goldstein leant forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table. He gestured with a nod, waiting for Draco to make his request.

“There was a man on the grounds last night. A Ronald Weasley.” Draco fidgeted in his chair, straining against the tug on his right hand. He concentrated to hold his features, half scared to finally know the truth. “What became of him?”

Goldstein studied Draco for some time, his leg shaking vigorously beneath the table, causing a thrumming vibration across the metal surface. Then he stood, placing one hand in his pocket as his other scratched the scruff on his face. Draco felt a weight on his heart, growing heavier and heavier with each passing second of Goldstein’s silence. Finally, the man answered in a short, low tone.

“Mr Malfoy, I’m- I’m sorry.”

Draco’s face fell at the man’s words. Goldein’s voice faded, but he didn’t need to say anymore, his response a solidifying truth to Draco’s fears. He focused on the styrofoam cup in front of him, fighting back the burn he felt in his eyes.

“The start of it all was at the annual gala for Parkinson Enterprise.” Draco managed to speak without his voice cracking, slowly losing sensation in his chest. He felt empty; a hollowed statue. He saw Goldstein in his peripheral take a seat back in his chair, picking up a pen. Draco’s hands were cupped in his lap, his fingers laced together.

“Oh, I’m familiar. It’s taking us months to gather enough physical evidence to get those D.A.G. bastards. But don’t worry, Malfoy. We’ll get them. I understand you are close with their daughter?” Goldstein began scribbling as he spoke, his palm sticking to the paper every so often from his clammy skin. Draco pretended not to notice, not that he particularly cared anymore.

“Pansy is a friend, yes.” Draco responded calmly, though the man’s question was irrelevant in his eyes. “But as I’m sure you’re aware, the Parkinsons control the market for legal substances, the same pharmaceuticals used in the surrounding areas. Mr Parkinson was a powerful man, with more influence than he truly knew what to do with. The gala was to be a triumph for us. The Skullz would finally convince Mr Parkinson to agree he needed us in order to continue his great success.”

Goldstein eyed Draco curiously as he took in the last bit of information. “What do you mean? Why would he need the mafia’s influence if his own was so renowned?”

“That’s exactly my point - he didn’t.”

 

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**


	2. Sinker

 

 

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

The room was spectacular, florals delicately arranged at every corner of the large, open space and perfectly positioned at the center of every table. Blossoms of reds and blues boldly contrasted against the elegance of grand white marble pillars and walls trimmed in intricately detailed gold. Everything screamed wealth and refinery, which was why Mr Parkinson chose this location specifically to host his annual gala. He was never one for subtly, wearing suits that could rival a common man’s annual wages, and was well known throughout cities like London and France.

It was in this extravagant hall where Draco currently found himself standing, a tumbler of scotch in his hand and a sour expression across his face. He was conversing with Blaise and Theo, his two best mates, taking in the scene around them as men and women gathered in various locations. He watched through bored eyes as beautifully attired women flirted their way to the richest men and women in the room, desperate for a share of their wealth through means of jewelry or secrets.

Two familiar faces were amongst the crowd of those women, both standing back to back as they schmoozed two graying men under flutters of decorated lashes and painted lips. The Greengrass sisters often worked together, complimenting the other and giving supporting backup when a man became _too_ interested in their company. Draco scoffed, knowing damn well they hated these gatherings. But, like them, people often found themselves doing things they didn’t want to do, trapped under the watchful eyes of their betters.

Draco took another large sip from his glass, completely oblivious to the conversation before him until a frantic Pansy approached him and his comrades. She was standing in a long emerald gown, the satin fabric shimmering against her porcelain skin, and contrasted the bright red lips she was currently chewing on. The amount of diamonds she had hanging from her ears and wrists were enough to pay off a med student’s debts, but damned if she didn’t look good in them nonetheless.

He watched as she scooped a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, downing the majority of its contents before she relaxed her shoulders. Pansy never was one to properly slouch, unable to slump her posture into anything less than an elegant stance. She was royalty in society’s eyes, and she made a name for herself as the queen of indifference.

“What’s got your panties in a twist this time?” Draco raised an eyebrow at her dramatics as she all but rolled her eyes in his direction. She peered back over her shoulder, her three male companions following her gaze to where the head Parkinson stood in the center of gathered guests.

“Men have been _whipped_ for speaking to me in that tone.” She drug her eyes back to catch Draco’s gaze. “Although you enjoy such punishments, don’t you, Draco?”

Theo coughed into his glass, wiping away a stream of escaped scotch from his chin while Blaise took a silent sip from his own tumbler, his eyebrows raised to his hairline.

“I do so enjoy your brutal crass, love.” Draco raised his glass and clanked it to an agitated Pansy’s flute before gesturing with it lightly. “We all know you came here to bitch. So, by all means enlighten us.”

“I often wonder, _dearest_ , how we've ever become friends at all.” Pansy all but smirked wickedly, pressing her flute against her bottom lip as she rolled the glass against the soft red rim as if hinting at something Draco should care to recognize. When he responded with a casual shrug, she scoffed aloud with another roll of her eyes. “This is _my_ party, Draco. Humour me for once, will you?”

“Actually, this is your parents’ party. You’re simply an accessory.” He finished his scotch with a single gulp, adjusting his tie with one hand.

“Pansy, ignore him. He’s still sour he’s been assigned rounds again tonight.” Blaise was flashing a shining smile as he slapped Draco playfully on his back. Draco scowled at his friend before turning his focus to the empty glass in his hand.

“I’ve learned Draco is rarely anything but sour these days.” Pansy smirked in a small triumph. “But to be frank, I’ve not exactly been sweet cream myself.”

“I doubt that, Pans. How do you figure?” Blaise was always their resident voice of sunshine. At least the most one could be in their world. The Skullz and all affiliated with them lived in a world cast in shadows, under a dull gray sky and low hanging clouds. Blaise was more of the gleaming rays fighting to shine through, both admirable and equally as welcoming.

“It’s just...my parents are so,” Pansy choked on her words, but somehow managed to maintain that beautiful aire about her. “I don’t know _popular_.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem for you then, Pans. You were made for the spotlight.” Blaise shined his smile, resonating a warmth through their group even Draco couldn’t deny.

“Mummy and daddy not giving you enough attention?” Draco couldn’t help himself. He and Pansy were always undercutting one another, the latter being continuously bitter to have been turned down so many times. He admired her persistence at times, or rather her stubbornness in the pursuit, but he never allowed her to get too close. Even if he had been interested in her, or _hers_ in general, he’d never permit anything longer than a rumble between the sheets. It was too dangerous.

“Lighten up, Draco. We should at least allow her time to vent.”

“Thank you, Blaise. It’s good to know _some_ of us still know how to be civil.” Pansy gave Draco a stern look and he groaned in response before she smoothed out a line in the fabric of her dress. “My parents and their damn legacy, you know? They expect me to take over their whole company when they’re gone.”

“Oh what rotten luck for you, love. Sitting in luxury while you operate a multi million dollar company. It sounds just awful.” Draco was eying his empty glass again, rolling around the last bit of contents too minimal to indulge in drinking.

“Jesus, Draco, you’re missing the point. _Again_. I’m _saying_ I don’t think I can do what they want me to do. How the hell am I supposed to do any of it?” Pansy was pushing her lower lip out, pouting into her glass. “It’s just that I’m not cut out for pharmaceuticals! I’m too pretty to be the face of medicines.”

“I need another drink.” Draco sauntered off from his group, ignoring the huff that emitted from Pansy’s lips as he walked away.

“You truly are an ass, you know that right?” Theo’s voice trailed behind him as his steps followed Draco’s. He didn’t mind it though, Theo was always there. Between him and Blaise, he wouldn’t know how he would have made it in this organization in the first place, their faces the only true comforting aspect for working with The Skullz.

The two friends faced one another, resting their elbows on the shiny granite top of the bar. They simultaneously peered about the room, watching the occupants intently and studying their movements. It was their job to be cautious, after all.

“Just fitting in with the crowd.” Draco said finally, waving down the bartender with a casual flick of his wrist, holding two fingers to imply another round for Theo.

They both surveyed the room, doing their duty to blend in while their higher ups mingled and drank with the pompous high class of society. To the left of them, Pansy and Blaise stood with both Greengrass sisters, subtle and light touches between laughs as Blaise and the eldest sister, Daphne, did a poor job at covering up their affections. Draco was certain even Theo caught it, not that he’d ever say anything aloud.

To their right, a group of men made their way to the bar, their attire being less than refined, and Draco found himself wondering how they made it past the doorman wearing such poorly tailored suits. He watched as they casually laughed and joked with one another, fascinated in the way they appeared to have left their professionalism at the door with their coats. Beside him, Theo grew tense, taking a small step forward, his jaw clenched.

“No sense stirring up trouble. They are harmless for now.” Draco picked up his freshly made scotch from the bar as his other hand was raised to stop Theo’s advance.

“They may be _for now_ , but we’re here to keep our eyes on D.A.G. regardless, remember?” Theo’s voice was low enough to where only Draco could here but his glare was obvious, catching the eyes of a red headed git and a raven haired man with tousled hair. The former raised his glass their way.

“Evening gentlemen!” Draco watched as he took a large sip from his glass, his other hand in his pocket, rocking lightly on his heels. His black slacks were almost an inch too short, exposing the fact he wasn’t wearing any socks.

“Sorry, we don’t speak to the help unless we’re in need of another round of drinks and as you can see, our glasses are quite full.”

The freckled face man’s smile faltered, though he visibly tried to fight it. He gave Draco a firm scowl, the alcohol no doubt shoving the man’s voice of reason into silence.

“I’ve no doubt you perceive yourselves in such high regards, however, nothing about you screams “half full” in anything.”

Despite himself, Draco laughed louder than he intended, causing a surprised expression from both Theo and the man with his entourage. Though he wasn’t particularly keen on the tone derided his way, he had to give the man credit for being quick on his feet. Suddenly Blaise was at his side, standing tall and staring down the men with a serious and stern face.

“I think it’s time you boys took your leave.” Blaise’s voice boomed over the gentle, melodic sounds of strings, catching the attention of a few onlookers nearby. Draco placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, reeling him back to soften the overall scene.

There was a pause from the men standing before them, tension rising so thick you could ignite the room with a match. Draco caught Pansy standing to the side in irritation, watching the whole exchange unfold. God only knew hearing her screech and yell was the last thing he wanted, but before he could make his move to extinguish the flames, the raven haired man took it upon himself to do it for him.

“Come on, Ron. I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.” He and the rest of the group turned to vacate, leaving the red headed man standing alone, grinning impishly in Draco’s direction. He gave him one last raise of his glass and downed the remaining contents, exiting the gala with a playful wink.

Blaise and Theo aimed to follow, but another scene unfolded through means of elevated conversation, turning their attention to their boss and other guests surrounding the Parkinsons.

“We appreciate you looking out for us, Mr Riddle, we really do, but you’ve nothing to offer us.” Mr Parkinson was smiling, though his movements were tense, and Draco caught the urgency in his eyes hinting how much he wanted to flee this conversation. The Skullz had been asking after Parkinson Enterprise for years to no avail, and he could tell the number of rejections were finally taking their toll.

Tom Riddle was seething where he stood, snarling whispered words through gritted teeth. Both women involved, Mrs Parkinson and Mrs Zabini stood with uneasy expressions on their faces, while Mr Parkinson merely stood his ground. The two were going back and forth, trying to keep things less conspicuous as possible, again with the help of both women trying to calm them down.

Eventually, the conversation shifted, much to the visible relief of both Parkinson matriarchs, and more people joined their debate on the importance of substance control, something Draco wasn’t particularly interested in. All parties dispersed, Tom Riddle with ranking soldiers for The Skulls while Mrs Zabini sauntered off towards the ladies room.

 

 

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

Goldstein was hanging on every word Draco was telling him, noting minor details. He peered up at Draco, pausing with his pencil still pressed to his notepad, the lead was breaking against the paper, his knuckles white, as if contemplating his next move. Finally he blinked and relaxed his writing hand.

“You mentioned The Skullz trying to manipulate the Parkinsons for cooperation. From what you just told me, it sounded like a normal conversation.”

“To an outside eye, you’re right. But knowing how long the administration had been working to get their hands on the products of Parkinson Enterprise, that conversation was a key factor to what lead to their deaths.”

“So, Tom Riddle appeared to be the front runner on this from your description. Can you tell me anything else on this conversation?”

Draco relaxed back in his chair, rummaging through the events of that night again, and trying to focus his mind on the conversation in question. The body language said it all, regardless of which words he picked up on or not.

“I wish I could tell you more on that, Goldstein, I really do. But I don’t have anything useful beyond that. Riddle mentioned working together, Parkinson declined, they argued, and the group dispersed.”

“Let’s move on then,” Goldstein was reluctant, appearing as though he had more questions pertaining to the argument, but he didn’t push it. He simply wrote down notes into his notepad. Draco mentally took notes as well, observing the fact Goldstein didn’t use a recorder or had a second officer as a witness. Once again, however, Draco already knew the reasons as to why he didn’t.

 

 

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

The party began to quiet down, many important names on the guest list had left home for the night, leaving quite a few Skullz administration and their affiliates to linger openly about the hall. Draco had lost track of Theo, but was hovered close to the bar, where he prefered to be out of the way as a whole. Pulling rounds at a social event was never something he particularly excelled in, unable to resist the temptation of indulging in the fine scotch or whiskey they had behind the bar upon the high end shelves. Nothing had happened that needed warranted noting as far as he knew, aside from a few mouthy attendees who made their leave shortly thereafter.

Blaise joined him after escorting Daphne and Astoria out for the evening, a smudge of red lipstick on his cheek and a faint waft of expensive perfume on his collar. When he approached he appeared flushed but Draco remained silent, sliding over a glass of scotch.

“My mother would kill me if she knew Daphne and I were seeing each other.”

Blaise had taken a sip of his beverage in his hand, condensation dripping and soaking into his white tuxedo shirt. He didn’t seem to mind, and Draco was pondering whether a response to his friend’s bold and blatant comment was necessary. When he finally placed a comforting arm on Blaise’s shoulder and opened his mouth to speak, a loud commotion from outside the front doors caused them both to jump.

Exchanging looks, they sprinted to the main exit, an ear piercing scream permeating through a series of _pops_ vibrating and echoing off the large buildings outside. When they emerged outside through the doors, Draco caught sight of an old yellow car speeding off around a far corner, tacky red spray paint along its side and back labeled and marked with the phoenix of Dumbledore’s Army Gang. He shook his head, thinking back to the standoff he and his two friends had with the group of D.A.G. boys before they made their hasty exit.

Blaise gripped his arm, pulling Draco’s attention towards the bottom of the stairs. Pansy was there, standing with blood splattered across the silky fabrics of her dress, her body shaking uncontrollably. Beside her at her feet lied both her parents, a pool of blood growing larger, spreading and soaking into the bottom of Pansy’s gown.

Draco pushed himself forward, removing his coat and wrapping it around a hysterical Pansy. He pulled her into him and she buried her face onto his shirt, mascara and red lipstick staining the white material. Blaise was at their side, rubbing a comforting hand along her back, he gave a concerned look to Draco. Nodding, both men evaluated the surroundings, lingered members of the gala running and fleeing, or stayed and gawked.

Between the two of them, Draco and BLaise began clearing out the scene. Theo approached from the grand doors, descending the stairs and scooping in to support Pansy as she continued to cry. Draco watched as his friend helped her into the company car. When he looked back, Draco knew she would be safe.

 

 

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

Draco sat across Goldstein, watching the man continue to take insufferable notes. His leg was shaking, bouncing under his left hand that rested on his thigh; a nervousness that was uncontrollable.

“All of this was in the report I received, Mr Malfoy. Nothing you just said to me adds any new evidence to that case.”

“Shortly thereafter, Parkinson Enterprise was taken over by Pansy. She was scared of running the company on her own one day already but,” Draco paused reaching up with his left hand to take the styrofoam cup into his grasp. His fingers turned the cup into circles, matching the jitter in his leg below the table. “But after her parents’ murders she was absolutely terrified. She thought she was a target. Targets need protection and well… The Skullz were able to provide that protection."

Goldstein seemed to understand the connection Draco was making, and he finally lowered his pen. He placed his hands on the handles of his chair, turning his gaze down towards the floor before standing slowly.

“I’m uh, I’m going to get us more coffee.”

And he left without another word. Draco took that time to remember the series of events that played out after that night at the gala. He had initially believed the D.A.G. boys were behind it all, though in the back of his mind he knew none of it truly lined up. It took a solid month for him to get some sense put into him - and quite literally. He smiled in spite of himself, thinking back to that night he and Ron became truly acquainted.

 

 

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**


	3. Outsider

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

Draco found himself standing outside a battered pub known to the locals as _Row Me Oar_. The name was ridiculous, and nothing he would openly visit otherwise, but he knew this was a frequent D.A.G. hang out, passing by this rundown place’s doors many times over the years. He, along with Blaise and Theo, would scope the area from time to time, aiming to ensure the D.A.G. boys stayed within their lane. They never had any trouble, aside from a few rowdy nights of innocent indulging, and he’d often wondered what went on inside. He supposed today his curiosity would finally be sated.

After the excitement this past month had brought him, Draco needed to find solitude in a place he knew none of his peers would find him, but he was still surprised to discover his feet had brought him here, standing outside the old worn brick building in the center of a strip. He stood with his hands in his pockets, peering up at the large tacky sign, some of the lights had burned out behind a few of the letters, emphasizing the lit letters remaining. He scoffed, mildly amused at how the sign shone brightly reading _Ro Me O_ , the departing letters dark and outlined as _w ar_. He tried to ignore the irony.

The windows were tinted, but lit up with colored neon lights outlining the dark frames. A few peeling beer promotional signs were placed sporadically, the once vibrant prints faded over time and washed out from the exposure to the afternoon sun. Draco didn’t mind the rough and ragged exterior, an odd welcome to the business district he was accustomed to.

Pulling back the door, Draco took a breath before walking in. His face was instantly invaded with a layer of low hanging fog from the many smoking patrons occupying the space. He didn’t mind it, used to having smoke in his face when his betters would puff their cigars, comparing old stories and sizing up one another’s dicks, so to speak. When he stepped up to the bar he took a seat at the back corner, certain to have his back facing the wall. He had learned long ago not to give someone the advantage of surprise, and yet he still found himself at the disadvantage.

A tall blonde sauntered up to him from behind the bar. She wore a bored smile, one that she didn’t even attempt to have reach her eyes. After tossing a cardboard coaster in front of him, she rested her palms atop the bar and popped the gum in her mouth, her almost irritated eyes looking expectantly at Draco.

“Whiskey. On the rocks.” Draco tugged some cash from an interior pocket of his trenchcoat, setting two fifty pounds bills down on the bar in front of the bartender. “And keep them coming.”

With a final pop of her gum, the blonde nodded and took the cash. She flipped up a tumbler from one of the bottom shelves and began pouring a house whiskey into the glass. She added the ice as she did, watching curiously as Draco waited for his order. He tapped his index finger on the bar, unphased at the blatant fact she didn’t care he was there at all. When she slammed the whiskey in front of him, she turned her back almost immediately away, busying herself with some other patrons. Her features almost instantly softened, and she laughed lightheartedly at the men she was tending.

The front of the bar burst open, the old metal door colliding with the panel wall behind it and caused a loud _bang_ over the music. Four men came in, yelling instantly to the bartender as they settled in the center of the bar. A few people already sitting had moved down when the men made their appearance, and Draco studied the way they interacted with one another.

“Hannah, me love! Cannae get an ale?”

Draco recognized the Scottish man almost instantly. He was a member of the D.A.G. and was not one for subtly. Draco had followed him a few times on his rounds with Theo or Blaise, and aside from his curiously odd obsession with matches and fire, he had always appeared harmless enough.

They lingered at the bar for a time, the quartet being the same from the gala only a month prior. Draco recalled the way that whole mess had started, leading to the bloody end of two people he had known well.

One of the men, the one who refused to comb his hair in an orderly fashion, jerked his head towards Draco’s direction, creating a wave of murmured laughs within their group.

 _Wonderful_.

Draco rolled his eyes, glaring back with a pointed expression, not even trying to hide it from his face. They knew as well as he did - he didn’t quite belong there. Though small, a part of him regretted walking through the door, feeling an eerie tug within his gut telling him this was all a mistake. One he would come to hate until his final days, but he didn’t move from the chair. He didn’t flinch when the smiling giant of a man started a cascade of peanuts to be tossed in his direction while the others laughed. One landed in the center of his glass as he raised it to his lips, the timing almost too perfect as whiskey splashed onto his face in response. He just continued sipping unphased with his back against the wall, trying to hide the smile that threatened to ghost his lips.

The thrill subsided much later than Draco had anticipated, the excitement of having _Skullz Trash_ in their bar screeching to a blatant shunned holt. He eventually learned all of their names, though he wasn’t particularly trying to. But they soon forgot about him altogether once a short woman entered and joined them at the bar, her hair in frayed curls about her face. Draco watched as she plopped hard on the barstool, a glass of warm red wine already being placed in front of her before she could remove her coat.

“Thanks, Hannah. I owe ya one.” The woman handed her coat off to one of the men gathered in their group. A badge hung from around her neck, catching the neon lights overhead every so often, the bronze shimmering a glittering reflection.

Their conversation lingered on, Draco catching only what he deemed important to him, not that he was there to gather information. Old habits die hard he supposed. The woman, a forensics officer with Metropolitan Police Service, was going on about the difficulties with obtaining the proper pharmaceuticals for certain procedures in the labs.

“It’s ridiculous! Not only are _we_ struggling to have the proper drugs for _our_ needs, but I’ve heard many distress calls for accidents caused by lack of access to medications.” Hermione was flailing her arms about dramatically, blowing the stray wild strands of hair from her face.

“Surely this isn’t a coincidence, right? Meta Hospital was charged double what regular shipment costs were. We barely have the funding to keep that place up and running as it is.” The raven haired man - Harry - spoke softly, adjusting the glasses on his nose, his brow furrowed.

Draco fixed his expression to look indifferent, knowing exactly why Meta Hospital and so many average people were not getting fair prices on their medications and drugs. The Skullz had successfully taken over traffic control for Parkinson Enterprise, and has been directing much of their goods to the hospital closer to the city’s business district - Barts. Draco hadn’t considered the effects of anyone else, the sales pitch on convincing Pansy to comply to taking direction from The Skullz painted a brighter, more happier photo. He felt his face fall, surprised in his own empathy. He usually cared for nothing but himself say his few close friends, and he began blaming the cheap whiskey in his hand as he ordered another.

The red headed git - Ron - moved alongside the bar away from his fellow companions to slide into the chair beside Draco, his eyes lingering on his face as he walked. Draco could feel his gaze upon him, and had watched the man’s movements through his peripheral, pretending to be interested in the glass in his hand, fidgeting with the base to allow the melting ice inside to sway afloat his watered down whiskey. When the man continued to stare silently at his side, Draco moved finally, narrowing his eyes to look upon his face. He was met with the brightest of blue, despite the lack of even lighting in the room. They shined like no other he had seen before, and he shifted in his chair to hide to twitch between his legs. He’d never been struck so strongly with a single gaze in that way, feeling his tongue dart across his bottom lip on its own accord.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Ron said finally, a smile spread across his freckled face. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d grace us mere simple folk with your presence.”

His tone was playful, that much Draco knew, but he half snarled just the same. He wasn’t a fan of mockery in any sense, now being no exception, despite the impact the man had over him with those eyes of his. Draco cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, being sure to keep his back to that sticky wood paneled wall.

“I’m a busy man, Ron. What do you want.” Draco turned his attention back to the bartender, jerking his head in understanding for another round. He heard Ron laugh softly beside him, his elbow rested atop the bar as he rubbed his chin with his hand.

“Mr Draco Malfoy. The Prince of Skullz himself. I’ve no proper business, just surprised to see you come _inside_ for once.” Draco’s eyes darted back to Ron and he was met with a slanted grin. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you and your boys scoping out the joint.”

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

“So the attendants in the bar that night all knew of your affiliation with The Skullz, and didn’t do anything to threaten you?”

“Unless they were hoping to give me a peanut allergy, I was in no danger by being there. In fact, I was more scared of Hannah than I was of them.”

Goldstein had come back with two freshly poured cups of coffee halfway through Draco’s thoughts of that night at the bar. For a moment, Draco had watched the steam dance up from the hot contents in the styrofoam before informing the officer of the conversation he overheard at the bar that night, one of many regarding the lack of funds to pay for the prescriptions the people needed over the course of the month or so since the gala took place. What he didn’t tell him was what came about _after_.

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

Draco’s back was slammed against a wall in the old bathroom of the pub, his mouth captured by chapped grinning lips, his hands gripped tightly to the faded jean jacket Ron was wearing. They fumbled hungrily with one another, two sets of hands exploring and mapping their way down each other’s torsos, teasing with expert hands between the other’s legs. Hard, heated excitement radiated from them both as their snogging intensified, Ron's shirt being pulled and stretched as Draco snaked his hands underneath.

Ron let out a groan at the sensation of his touch on his bare, freckled skin, and Draco boldly pulled back to stare at Ron, biting his lower lip. With a mischievous smirk, Draco lowered himself to his knees, unbelting Ron’s jeans as he did. Ron watched through hooded, hungry eyes, licking his lips, as Draco’s hand came around Ron’s cock and freed it from his pants.

Ron moaned, placing one hand on the wall while his other rested atop Draco’s head with a handful of hair. Draco could feel his eyes on him as he slowly brought Ron’s hardened cock to his mouth, teasing the tip ever so much with his tongue before sliding it fully into his mouth.

Draco could feel the twitch of Ron’s cock between his lips, the urgency in the way Ron’s hands were entangled in his hair, the occasional light jerk of his hips. Draco relished in the feeling of it all, the power he had over one Ronald Weasley as he rolled his tongue down the length of his shaft. He was deliberate with the movements of his mouth, working his lips closed tightly around Ron’s cock to implement the best amount of pressure and suction, his tongue twirling all the while as he moved.

“Fuck.” Ron breathed behind clenched teeth, his sounds growing more desperate as Draco brought him closer to the end. And soon, the demanding consistency of Draco’s movements resulted in what both men had been anticipating, the warm bursts of cum that jetted into Draco’s mouth, Ron cumming hard enough to reach the back of Draco’s throat.

Draco teased Ron, flicking his tongue along the tip of his cock once, twice more, causing the man to shake and buckle above him. Ron eventually gripped the handful of hair almost too tightly, a signal for Draco to know his quick fix in the bathroom had reached it’s pique.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy.” Ron breathed as Draco wiped the saliva from his lips. He had successfully swallowed all Ron had managed to give him, causing the corner of one side of Ron’s mouth to curl upward into an oblique smirk.

Draco stood then, working the creak out of his jaw, Ron refastening his pants, and both of them breathing erratically. They shared one last kiss together before they parted, one that lingered far longer than either of them anticipated, Ron’s expression satisfied; Draco’s content. When they exited the bathroom at separate times, Ron made his way back to his fellow friends at the bar, some side-eying him with a knowing look while Draco gathered his coat and left without another word to anyone.

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

“I’m not following here, Malfoy.” Goldstein’s words caused Draco’s head to jerk back at the officer, his uncuffed hand quickly tugging at the seam of his pants below the table. “The pharmaceutical market has always been imbalanced, especially in London.”

“No, Goldstein, it hasn’t. Not since the mess with the gala. Skullz controls the market. Try to keep up on this, will you? But that wasn’t the only thing we control. Those who benefit the organization in some way will be rewarded for it be it with discounted drugs, property values, removing of baggage. So many sunshine filled perks to entangling yourself with The Skullz.”

“Your sarcasm is comforting enough, Malfoy. Tell me more about what you meant by removing of baggage?”

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

They had been waiting for almost an hour now, every chair filled with a soldier or higher valued associate and administration member at the long conference table. It had been like finding a seat in grade school, peering uneasily about the room to find the group you cliqued with the most. Luckily for Draco, Blaise and Theo had always saved the seat between them near the door so he could slip in easily if need be. He hated these damn meetings. They never accounted for anything, always ending with the same pats on the backs for the administration’s accomplishments on the soldier’s dime. Meanwhile the one’s putting in the actual work are gruelled and whipped into order - even when a plan was executed perfectly.

Draco swiveled back and forth in his black leather chair, his chin resting on the knuckles as he leaned his weight against his elbow on the armrest, his posture slouched. Tom Riddle had called everyone together, but failed to show up with everyone else. It wasn’t the first time the higher ups called a meeting without being present, it was often a ploy to have everyone together to lush out a rat or ears for the cops.

The last of those meetings had been brutal, a man working both sides slaughtered in front of them all. Everyone was forced to leave a mark, a fingerprint of sorts, to prove they were all in the organization together; a _family_. Draco scoffed at the memory of it. He’d grown up knowing he’d always be a part of The Skulls organization, his father calling most of the shots the moment he was old enough to hold a gun.

“I really have about a dozen other things I’d rather be doing right now.” Blaise was leant close to Draco’s ear, squeezing a stress ball under his fingers. “Seriously, mate, what point is Riddle trying to make here?”

Theo was leaning closer from Draco’s other side, trying to listen in on their conversation. Draco opened his mouth to respond, a single word escaping before Tom Riddle bursts through the conference room doors, followed closely behind by Severus, the organization’s own consigliere. Or who Draco and Blaise like to call “Riddle’s Bitch”.

“Gentlemen. Thank you for waiting.” Tom Riddle took a seat at the head of the table, Severus directly behind him and lighting him a cigar. “I’m sure most of you are wondering as to why I called you here.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, watching Riddle casually puff his cigar and survey back at the men. Blaise shifted beside him, clearly growing uneasy at Tom’s demeanor.

“Vincent, Gregory, please stand gentlemen.”

With a nervous glance, the two men stood slowly from their seats. Blaise and Theo both leant back in their chairs as Draco raised a single eyebrow. These two were the walking disasters in Draco’s eyes, neither allowed to handle the larger jobs simply due to their inabilities to contemplate orders.

“It’s your lucky day, gentlemen. I’ve got a special task for you both.” Surprised, the room filled with scattered gossips and whispers aimed at the two men standing half clueless before them. “You’ve made for quite the popular topics of conversation at a small time newspaper.”

“Sir?” Gregory chanced, clearly not catching on this special task is anything but.

“Colin Creevey, a reporter known to be meddling for weeks now, appears to have some rather detailed information on you two. Pity, seeing how you assured me nothing could possibly go wrong by allowing you two to operate the trash routes.” Tom Riddle flicked his cigar, ashes lightly sprinkling to the floor. Draco could have sworn he heard his fellow soldiers’ heartbeats.

“We did our best to cover up the incident in question. Sir.” Vincent stuttered, not daring to look Riddle in the face.

“B-but to be fair, the cargo we were hauling just sort of fell out.” Gregory was clearly trying to back his partner up, the two of them nodding encouragingly at the other while the rest of the room stayed as silent and still as possible, unsure which direction this situation will go.

“But you see, gentlemen, you were in charge of properly securing the body within the heaps of trash in which you should have easily been able to move!” Tom Riddle was standing, his palms resting on the table’s surface, his cigar dangling from his mouth, each word in his sentence grew louder and louder into more of a bark-like tone. Vincent and Gregory flinched, unable to keep the slight fear from their eyes. Just then, the door to the conference room opened again, and the youngest Greengrass sister sauntered in, walking lightly in her heels to Riddle’s side.

“As some of you may already know, this beautiful little gemstone here is Astoria. She has been such a sweet little helper lately.” Blaise flinched at the sight of Riddle running his fingers down her arm, moving her to sit atop his lap.

Draco reached over to Blaise, gripping his forearm to hold him back from whatever it was he was thinking of doing; to control the outburst Draco was sure his friend felt. When the flex relaxed under his hold, Draco loosened his grip. He knew how much Blaise cared for Daphne, and how much Daphne loved her sister. But what was clear in that moment was just how _much_ Blaise was willing to risk for the affections of his heart. A part of Draco respected Blaise for that, but he never thought he could share that sort of emotion with anyone, not in this life, as it didn’t allow such frivolous mindsets.

But, Draco would never deny the fact he cared deeply for his two best friends, and the sisters he’d grown so fond of. It was why he and Blaise had been working on getting them away from all of this. Draco and Astoria had been left alone so often to entertain one another over the years, Blaise and Daphne running off to meet in secret. Draco grew to respect the younger woman, her spirit was something to admire, much like her sister and Blaise’s commendable feelings for one another.

“She’s been tasked to play a little cat and mouse with our reporter, haven’t you my dear?” Tom leant in and nipped at her neck. Astoria didn’t move, her face a hollow shell. Tom didn’t seem to notice. “That being said, she’s gained some wonderful insight as to who your delightful witnesses to the body you stupidly dropped into plain sight actually are.”

Tom popped Astoria high on the back of her thigh, her gaze finally moving to meet Draco’s, a tinge of pink behind her crystal blue eyes. Draco gave her a subtle nod of understanding, silently telling her to just hold on.

“I’ll give you two names, gentlemen, then you _will_ clean this mess up for us now won’t you?” It wasn’t a question, his tone unwavering as he took one last puff from his cigar. “Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas.”

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

“Seamus Finnigan was at the explosion site.” Goldstein was almost smiling, but it never reached his eyes, both holding a cold gaze.

“He was.”

“So how do I know if what you’re telling me is accurate? Both Vincent and Gregory are dead.” Goldstein scratched his chin, his gaze flickering between Draco’s face and the mirrored window on the wall - a habit he did quite often.

“I supposed you will just have to trust me then.” Draco reached over and picked up his cup, giving a silent half salute towards Goldstein, purposely shifting his eyes and dipping his head to include whoever was behind the mirror. “Vincent and Greg operated the garbage routes in and out of the city. The organization has been known to transport things under the protection of plastic bags more often than not.”

“So you’ve said.” Goldstein stood, his hand still rubbing under his chin while his other presented itself on his hip. “I just don’t see how this is relevant to the explosion aside from the fact they were all there.”

With a subtle roll of his eyes, Draco rested his elbows on the table, aiming his gaze at Goldstein. “This is one of the single most important piece of information I can provide you. It literally starts the domino effect.”

“How so?”

“Desperation and proving worth were two very prominent motivational drivers in our organization, Goldstein, which almost always led to a larger pile of shit to cover up until finally, everything explodes in front of your face.”

“Are you speaking in riddles now? I don’t have time for you to talk in tongues!” Goldstein was terrible at pretending to be angry, his body language still too soft to follow through with the stance he was currently holding. Clearing his throat to Draco’s unphased respond, however, he sat back into his chair and picked up his pen. “Please, continue.”

“Vincent and Greg had one thing in mind. And that was to cut out all loose ties.”

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**


	4. Rejecter

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

The sound woke him abruptly, his eyes shooting open as he sat up with a start. It took him a few seconds to recognize the sound, a fist beating against his door. He could hear the urgency in the contact of flesh to metal, throwing off his duvet comforter and getting to his feet. He didn’t bother putting on a shirt, taking large strides out of his room and out to where his front door was being assaulted. When he flung it open in irritation, ready to verbally tell off whoever was on his doorstep, he locked eyes with frightened pale blue.

“Daph?” His voice was scratchy and he cleared his throat as she threw herself on him, wrapping her arms tightly around him and sobbing into his shoulder. “Daphne? What happened?”

“Dr-Draco,” she began frantically. “Tori is d-” Daphne’s voice caught in her throat and she buried her head deeper into the groove of his neck. He didn’t care that the dampness of her tears was soaking into his skin, and he gently guided her to his couch, slamming the door closed with his foot as he did.

“What happened with Tori?”

Draco pulled her back at arm’s length, his hands gently closed around her shoulders as he lowered his head to meet her eyes. They were bloodshot and swollen, glistening under the low light pouring in from the other room. She flicked her gaze, unable to focus behind the layer of a tear stricken wall. When she blinked, the salty streams slid down her cheeks.

“Sh-she is-” In an instant her sadness morphed into a fiery anger, a scowl formed across a furrowed brow, her teeth clenched. She squirmed from his grip and slapped him hard on his chest with her fist. “How could you let this happen?!”

Draco reached for her, confusion and concern taking over his countenance as he fought to restrain her flailing arms from hitting him again.

“How could I let _what_ happen? Daphne, you’re not making any sense!”

“She’s _dead_ , Draco!”

Draco dropped his arms as Daphne cried out again, falling back against the cushions of the couch. Her staggered breaths between pain-ridden sobs was all that could be heard in the room. Draco sat stunned, staring blankly off at his friend in utter horror. He had promised her he would be able to keep them safe. _Both_ of them. She was right - he allowed it to happen.

Neither of them moved for what felt like hours. It wasn’t until Daphne sniffed, leaning down to rest her head in Draco’s lap that either one of them spoke. He absentmindedly played with her hair.

“How?” He said finally. He could feel Daphne stiffen under his touch, but she didn’t recoil as she did before. Draco’s gaze stayed forward, unable to focus on anything but the nic in the wall by the desk.

“They got to her before I could get us out.” She sat up then, her lip quivering as she spoke. “They killed Colin too, the reporter. And those _bastards_ blamed his brother!”

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

Officer Goldstein cleared his throat, catching Draco’s gaze as he leant back in his chair.

“We did a full investigation on that case, Malfoy, and every bit of evidence found pointed directly to the younger Creevey kid.”

Draco rolled his eyes and rested his elbows on the table before him, his right hand struggling to lay even with his left as he rested his chin on his knuckles. “That is exactly the point, Goldstein.”

“So you want me to believe The Skullz were behind the Greengrass and Creevey deaths?” Officer Goldstein didn’t look convinced, grabbing some additional papers from one of his files and spreading them face up on the table in front of Draco. “These photos prove this was a crime of passion; a double homicide from the youngest Creevey, Dennis.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Only mafia link to these is the Dennis boy himself. The D.A.G. in fact. Care to elaborate how your _theory_ is right, when a whole team of the City of London Police finest say otherwise?”

“Half of your _finest_ is under the protection of The Skullz, Goldstein. Even you.” Draco’s tone was matter of fact and direct, causing Officer Goldein’s lip to twitch. He sat up, drawing his face closer to Draco as he leant over the table.

“Careful where you throw your accusations, Malfoy.”

“Or what? I’m a dead man already.”

Goldstein diverted his gaze and glanced up at the mirror. He cleared his throat again and stood up, pacing slightly.

“So, if Daphne knew of The Skullz involvement, why didn’t she say so in her testimonial? In fact, she didn’t have a whole lot to say at all.”

Draco slid his chair back from the table, leaving a piercing screech as metal scraped against concrete. His usual calm expression held a tinge of irritation as he narrowed his eyes.

“You really aren’t getting it, are you? People are _scared_ , Goldstein. Daphne was working to get her and Tori _away_ from all of this. You really think she’s going to speak up against the very thing holding her here?” Draco’s voice rose in pitch, and he stood up from his chair to be level with Goldstein’s face. He wasn’t able to stand to his full height, his handcuffed wrist causing his right side to slump. “You forget yourself, Goldstein. I know for a _fact_ our organization has you under our purse.”

“Care to tell me how it all really happened then?” Goldstein took a calm seat back in his chair, gesturing Draco to do the same. He ignored the blatant accusation Draco threw his way, causing another wave of anger to course through Draco’s veins. When Draco finally leveled his breathing enough to move, he positioned himself back in his chair, partially relieved the metal cuff no longer pulled at his wrist.

“Daphne and Tori were informants, as I mentioned before, gathering information to use against anyone and _everyone_ who could potentially pose as a threat against The Skullz.” Draco relaxed the more he spoke, keeping sure to look Goldstein straight in the eyes as he did. “Tori was tasked with getting close with the reporter, Colin, as he had been loose with his tongue in his articles in the paper.”

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

“You can’t be serious, Tori! It’s hard enough to get you and Daphne out of London. Now you want me to take some loquacious reporter too?”

Draco was pacing in his living room with a desperate-eyed Astoria sitting stiffly on his couch. She eyed him as he moved from one side of the room to the other, her lip in a pouting position.

“He’s a good man, Draco. And you know as well as I do that he’s in danger. Otherwise Riddle wouldn’t have asked me to get close to him.” She blinked, a tear falling down her cheek. He stopped his advance on another turn of the room to sit beside her.

“Has Colin spoken to his brother? Maybe D.A.G. can help him. I just can’t see it working out.” Tori jerked her gaze to capture Draco’s eyes. Her irises were swirling with hope and desperation, but also something else. “ _What?_ ”

“I never told you Dennis was involved with D.A.G. How did you know that?”

Ron’s face crossed his mind as he contemplated Tori’s question. As much as he trusted both Greengrass sisters, he wasn’t quite ready to endanger them further with the information of his relationship, nor could he risk Ron's life in the process. It was the sisters’ jobs to gather information after all.

“I’m a soldier for The Skullz, Tori. It’s my job to know these things.” He was smooth with his lie, but he could tell by her expression she wanted to push him further. When she finally accepted his response, he released a breath. “Look, I will do everything I can to get you and Daph out as originally planned. I can’t risk adding a third. Especially one who is so openly against the family I work for.”

Tori shrugged and let out an exasperated sigh before she got to her feet. She ran her fingers through her long brown hair, and took Draco’s place in pacing the room.

“Then I’m not leaving,” she said stopping in front of Draco. She was a short, petite girl, but her confidence allowed her small frame to tower over his sitting position. “I won’t leave him behind to die.”

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

“So she stayed. And because I didn’t agree to help him, time ran out. Tori was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Draco was staring at the table, replaying that last night with Astoria in his mind.

 _He should have done something_.

“This is all well and good, Malfoy, but it doesn’t explain what you think actually happened.” Goldstein took a too large swig from the styrofoam cup, eyebrows raised with irritation.

“I was getting to that,” Draco said finally looking up to Goldstein. “She left my place and went straight to the reporter. And because I didn’t stop her, she was there when the assault took place.”

“You mean when Dennis showed up.”

Draco slammed his hand on the table, knocking the contents of Goldstein’s cup onto the surface, splashing lightly as some of it hit the floor.

“ _Damnit_ , Goldstein, are you _listening_? Riddle sent his clowns to silence the boy. And because Tori was there, she was a liability they weren’t willing to take. That is what happens in The Skullz. It doesn’t matter how dedicated you are to them because in the end you’ll end up dead regardless if they so wish it.”

Goldstein studied Draco for a long minute before he responded, ignoring the fact some of his coffee had splashed on his shirt from Draco's outburst. “And what of Dennis? We have a key witness to his own death. Not to mention the letter he wrote as a confession.”

Draco furrowed his brow. “What letter?”

“Ah, so you _don’t_ know everything. And here I thought we were actually making progress.” Goldstein reached into his file again and slid a copy of a letter in his direction. Draco went to reach with his right hand out of instinct, but was met with restraint as his hand jerked midway. Wincing, he grabbed the letter with his left and read the contents, his brow furrowing with every word.

“This doesn’t make sense. Dennis would _never_ have killed himself.”

“And yet you hold his own words in your hand.”

“Bullshit. Who was his witness?” Draco wasn’t buying into the angle of Dennis committing suicide. The Creevey brothers were close, that much was to be sure, but the boy would never do anything so abrupt or foolish.

“His cellmate - Antonin Dolohov.”

Draco scoffed and tossed the piece of paper across the table.

“Dolohov? You are aware he is a Skullz reject, right? The man is a psychopath. He used to kill innocents _just_ so he could gain Skullz approval.” Draco sat back, shaking his head. “You never _once_ stopped to think how perfectly everything lined up?”

Goldstein swallowed, once again glancing toward the mirror. It was brief but Draco didn’t miss it.

“Or perhaps you did. But you chose to look the other way when Dolohov’s hands snapped Dennis’ neck like a twig before staging a suicide hanging.”

Goldstein’s eyes widened only briefly, then stood from his seat.

“Perhaps it is time we took a break,” he said as he walked to the door. He knocked urgently, looking back over his shoulder once more as he waited for another officer to open the door.

Draco hung his head back, allowing it to hang over the back of the chair. His mind instantly went to analyzing the new information regarding Dennis. He meant what he told Goldstein - Dennis was a good kid, always smiling or cracking a joke. Draco’s eyes closed as his thoughts shifted to the last encounter he had with him. Ron had insisted he see the latest of his handiwork at the junkyard where the D.A.G. collaborated.

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

Draco didn't understand why he put himself in these situations, never one to purposely waltz straight into a lion’s den. Yet, as he sat back and peered about the room at the full pack of men laughing and drinking, he couldn’t deny that sense of normalcy he felt with Ron’s arm draped over his shoulder. He still wasn’t friends with most of the other occupants in the room, catching side eyes and snide remarks, all in which he was prepared to counter, but there was a level of acceptance nonetheless, one he would never have found in the business district.

He watched as Ron’s lip twitched into his signature grin, a dimple forming on each cheek as one side curled higher than the other. He won the hand of cards, taunting his fellow mates at the coffee table they were currently sat around. Seamus, the loud and obnoxious pyro with a shit poker face, scowled as he threw his hand down on the wooden surface, a corner of one card soaking into the ring of condensation where his beer had been resting moments before. Dean was sitting straight up, a head taller than the rest of them gathered with his shining smile still planted on his face. Had Ron not made such a fuss about winning the hand, Draco would have been certain Dean had taken the win. That man never frowned at anything, which was a surprisingly welcome gesture in Draco’s eyes.

As the game went on, each hand of cards was matched with another round of drinks. The group had nearly doubled in size, and Draco folded as he watched the intent way Ron studied the cards in his hand. He’d been winning most of the night, much to the chagrin of some of the others who had gathered. He knew if Ron’s luck continued in this way, he’d never get him alone.

A play of mischief filled his eyes, his lips curling into a smirk laced with a hint of wickedness, and he snaked his arm around Ron’s waist, leaning his mouth close to his ear. Purposely adding a playful and exaggerated _hiss_ to his words to cause a shiver down Ron’s side, Draco whispered to him.

“Have I ever told you how fucking _hot_ you look when you think too hard?”

Ron raised his shoulders as a chill jolted through his body, his face of concentration morphing to lightened chortles. He turned to Draco and stole a quick kiss, forcely pressing his lips to Draco’s before pulling away smugly, resting their foreheads together.

“Is that so? Well have I ever told _you_ -”

“Oy! _Romeo_! Are ya playin’ or not?”

Ron and Draco both glanced over to Seamus who was sitting amongst the group of impatient faces, watching their exchange. Harry winked while Dennis just shook his head playfully, and Draco watched as Ron’s eyes moved from the cards in his hand, to Draco, to the others, then back at his cards.

“Sorry, folks, but this King is capped out. I fold and we’re out.” He laid his cards face down on the table before interlacing his fingers with Draco’s, standing abruptly and guiding him from the room. “Don’t wait up alright?” Draco’s face dropped, mortified at Ron’s bluntness, but it quickly faded when Ron turned into him, pressing his lips firmly to Draco’s that caused a full twitch between his thighs. With a smirk, Ron led him into his bedroom and closed the door, Draco dropped his hand only to wrap them around Ron’s waist when he was instantly shoved back against the door. Ron had his hands on Draco’s face, cupping his cheeks as his lips trailed from his lips down to the curve of his neck, sucking and nipping his skin. Draco let out of faint moan.

“This king is a _fool_.” Draco’s words were airy and low, and he slowly gave into the sensation he’d been begging to feel all night. They were a wildfire, untamed and free, tugging and pulling at one another until they were both relieved of their shirts. Draco drug his hands down Ron’s bare freckled skin, his chest rising and falling in a flustered breath. They closed the distance between them again, kissing with passion and desire.

Ron half lifted Draco off his feet, tossing him onto the bed as he climbed on top of him, kissing his stomach, then his chest and up his neck until he was slowly pulled up to be level with Draco again. Pressing his forehead to Draco’s, he smiled down at his lover in a mischievous grin.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

Draco gave him a scowl, playfully punching Ron in the chest.

“Are you serious? I’ve literally been trying to get you alone all night. You really should learn to pay better attention.”

Ron growled as he tugged at Draco’s pants. Taking the hint, Draco unfastened and pulled off his bottoms with a roll of his eyes, watching as Ron did the same, clumsily fumbling to the side as he struggled to remove one side free off his ankle. Draco grinned amused, reaching over to finally free a frustrated Ron, and immediately being tackled down on his back.

“I help you and this is how you thank me?”

“You only sped up my chance to have you on your back again.” Ron kissed Draco hard, fumbling slightly with his lips as he hungrily reached down between Draco’s legs. He groaned when he took his length into his hand, Draco responding instantly to the feel of his touch on his cock.

Draco had his arms snaked around Ron’s neck, allowing the sensation of him moving the full length of his cock to take over. Ron’s hands were rough, but he expertly knew what Draco liked. He twitched under the feel of Ron’s thumb rubbing the precum from the tip, breaking free of his lips to lean his head back. Through hooded eyes, he peered up at Ron who was licking his thumb, bringing his hand back down to continue his work in stroking Draco into submission.

Ron pulled back, his hand never faltering as he took his other to his own cock, already half excited, his lower lip tucked under his teeth, biting down as he watched Draco’s reaction. There was lust in his eyes, desire Draco knew reflected in his own. He shifted, sliding his legs down between Ron on his knees, flipping to his stomach. Ron’s eyes glazed over, the hunger driving him as he placed both hands on Draco waist, trailing circles over the sides of his arse.

Draco arched, the feel of Ron leaning forward to kiss the dimples on his back, his hands moving slowly inward. His head dropped onto the pillow, the warmth of his breath on his back and the heat of his cock rubbing against this rear entrance was making him antzy. He was never one to beg, but _fuck_ did he want Ron inside him.

A chill met the flesh of his back as Ron shifted behind him, the bed leaning from the weight of him on one side, but then, he was back, kissing trails of warmth down Draco’s spine, the rocking of Ron’s cock against him again, wet this time, before he teased him with the tip of it, applying little pressure before tugging back again. Draco squirmed, Ron gripping him hard at one side as his other hand busied itself with teasing Draco’s arse with his cock. With the firm grip in place, Ron moved his hips forward slowly, the sensation of him inside Draco widening and stretching him from behind.

Both hands held Draco down, the rocking of Ron’s hips building faster, harder. Draco clawed at the pillow, his head stretched back as a moan escaped his lips. Behind him, Ron leant forward and curled his fingers around Draco’s neck, their heads almost coming together, Ron's forehead brushing against Draco's hair.

Ron’s hips grew faster still, and Draco could feel the pressure of pleasure building, his cock throbbing. Ron pulled him back, Draco now resting his palms flat on the bed as Ron began stroking Draco from behind, his hips still moving. Draco was beside himself, the sensation of Ron’s hand moving in time with the thrust of his hips was really pushing him over.

Draco came hard, waves of pleasure bursting from him before he fully knew it had happened, his mind fogged, his vision glazed, shouting a moan that caused Ron to jerk his hips harder. Both men were panting, the sensation inside Draco never fully subsiding as Ron moved, grunting with staggered breaths.

“Yeah, fuck, fuck. Yeah.” Ron breathed every time his cock buried into Draco, Draco tried to move with him, but he shook beneath Ron as aftermaths of sensations surged through him. Then, Ron stiffened, letting out one final _fuck_ as he released his load into Draco’s arse, unable to control how hard he jerked inward before falling over Draco’s back.

After a pause of only heavy breathing, both clammy with sweat, Ron rolled off Draco and made to stand. He walked over to a chair and tossed Daco a towel, a joyful wink in his eye. As Draco clambered off the bed, Ron exited to the adjacent bathroom, closing the door.

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

He could have sworn he was going crazy, his brain tricking his ears with Ron’s faint voice. There was urgency in the voice in his head, the external cries to leave and bolt, to get up and flee the room as if he was making a mistake. A part of him knew he was, but there wasn’t anything left for him anymore, all save for Theo, who he prayed made it out alive.

His eyes drifted towards the mirror on the wall, but almost as instant as the voice calling him to run rang loudly in his ears, it was gone again just as quickly, fading away like the minutes he knew was left of his life before the administration would reign him unworthy to breathe.

 _Get out of there_.

His mind roved over Blaise and Theo, the three of them wearing younger men's skin, less scars and regrets, holding a more carelessness and lighthearted mindset. They had a pact back then, to hold each other up regardless of what the future toils with The Skullz would bring. Foolish notions, but it was everything they had, them against the world. No one anticipated things would change so drastically over the years, holding on for dear life on their own branches, clinging to survive in the only way they knew how. The organization had a way of manipulating anyone stupid enough to join in the first place.

Draco shook his head, his thoughts so entwined with how everything in his life had become, nothing like the world it was supposed to be. Choices were fickle, _time_ was a bitch; a plaything of chance, hoping the final decision made under the hourglass was the right one, praying the aftermath was tolerable enough to continue moving forward.

Despite the pain he brought on himself, he couldn’t help but think of just how much Dennis was wronged in those choices, the sands on his own hourglass running out, the glass shattered and spraying the grains out into the air, fading into dust and lost in the breeze.

He was an adventurous kid, with ambitions and dreams - nothing like the vows Draco and his friends had made, but to _live_ by tossing out the rules of choice or time. He had values, and admired his older brother endlessly. Draco didn’t need to be close to the boy to see that, the younger Creevey laughing and teasing how his brother had entangled himself with a cute little brunette he met at the printing shop. Draco frowned, the choices made spiraling into one devastating end to the next. In Draco’s eyes, Dennis was robbed of everything simply due to the devotion he had to his brother, caught in the crossfire of a war he had nothing to do with.

He wanted to blame Astoria, but knew why she involved herself the way she did, then allowing herself some part of light in this overcast madness of a world Draco could relate to. He hated himself for understanding her, his mind once again circling back to Ron’s face, a paralleled hell he shared with Astoria, wanting something that never truly belonged to them in the first place, the desire to run off and start anew regardless of consequence. None of that mattered now. For _either_ of them.

 

 

 

 

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**


	5. Ruiner

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

“Mr Malfoy.” Goldstein came back into the room with a refreshed expression. “I hope you took the time to yourself to reflect on giving me real facts regarding the explosion.”

Draco was staring at the surface of the table, his eyes unwavered when Goldstein graced him with his presence again, sitting down across from him in his _throne_. The officer demanded facts, which is precisely what Draco had been giving him. He clearly wanted _specifics_. So far aside from his friends, he’d really only outed one name, unsure if he wanted or even needed more than that.

“You want to know about the explosion.” He said after a long silence. Goldstein had allowed the quietude to linger longer than Draco anticipated before he answered, wondering what or who he met with when he had briefly left the room. Whoever it was, they clearly instructed him to _remain on task_ , and to stop dilly dallying about with Draco’s stories. It was information Draco deemed important to take down the administration, the hope in that happening growing smaller and smaller the longer he sat with Goldstein, but hope was all he had left.

“Yes. That is what I’ve been asking after since the beginning.” Draco quickly discovered he didn’t like this overly calm Goldstein. He wondered if this was a final attempt to cover his nerves.

“I want to tell you about the drive by first.” Draco leant back in his chair, his hands resting loosely in his lap. Goldstein gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“I see no point in-”

“Goldstein!” Draco spoke louder than he anticipated, frustrated at the fact he was refusing to hear reason. “You need to hear about the driver by at Row Me Oar.”

The silence to follow was chilling at best, both men staring at one another, both sets of eyes flicking towards the mirror. Draco arched an eyebrow, testing his limits, waiting to see if Goldstein would deny him this after everything else. Finally, Goldstein gave a tense nod, his shoulders slumped.

“Things were relatively calm aside from the increased profits coming in from the collection of new debts. This was mainly middle class families across town, those unable to afford more simple prescriptions.” Draco worded his statement deliberately, baiting him again to see how he would react to the mention of the medications. When he merely glanced back to the mirror again, avoiding to meet Draco’s eyes, he continued.

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

Draco had met up with Ron and his friends at Row Me Oar, or now comically called _Romeo_ courtesy of the Scottish imp, Seamus. It became Draco’s hideaway when leaving the city would prove to be too difficult undetected. He didn’t mind it so much, careful to pull the collar of his coat over his neck and hid his hair under an expensive fedora. If he wasn’t terrified for the safety of Ron and his remaining friends, he’d almost find this whole situation comical, the blatant cliche of such a horrid classic played out time and time again.

He entered the bar, the dust shimmering lazily as it settled in the air, Draco making his way to his wonted spot by the wall. Hannah greeted him with a cheery smile, grabbing a clean glass and reaching up towards one of the top shelves behind her, grabbing a finely aged whiskey. He laughed every time he made it back here, already calling her out over the change in her demeanor since their first encounter. 

Draco waved to Harry and Hermione as he passed, the two smiling warmly as if they’d been mates for years instead of weeks, an odd comfort and acceptance he was grateful to have after losing Tori. They had all lost someone due to this typhoon of an uprising, both accepting allies where they could. The fact they allowed Draco in enough to be a part of something aside from his usual dark skied induced Skullz life, he didn’t think he could ever repay them for properly.

He sat down, thanking Hannah with a grin as she placed his drink in front of him. Ron made his way from the back of the bar, darts in his hand and a grin on his face. He sat on the barstool beside Draco, looking on expectantly.

“You look as though you’re to about to attempt to talk me into something stupid.” Draco took a taste of his drink, allowing the warm amber liquid to slide down the back of his throat. Ron leant closer to him, his lips tickling his ear.

“I don’t have to _attempt_ anything. I know you’ll give in eventually.” There was more to Ron’s statement than he might have intended in that moment, but Draco purposely ignored the undertones of his words. “Besides, it’s just a friendly game of darts.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow to Ron, his glass still half raised. Ron was competitive at best, and wasn’t sure he wanted to provoke him regardless of how _friendly_ he claimed it to be.

“Terms?”

Ron’s face lit up.

“Loser does Hannah’s side work for the night.” Ron inclined his head towards Hannah, who was half listening, half cleaning a glass.

“What’s that?” She asked throwing the towel from her hand over her shoulder. “Pretty boy, here, doing _my_ side work? I’m all in.” 

Draco breathed a laugh, setting his glass down, the ice making a faint _chink_ within the clear porcelain. He looked from Ron to Hannah, then back at Ron. Standing, he removed his coat and hung it over the back of his chair, cracking his knuckles.

“Alright, Ron, prepare to busy yourself with taking out the trash!”

“Kick his arse, Ron.” Hannah was laughing, slamming a crinkled five pounds atop the bar’s surface. Draco shook his head, a smirk across his lips, and followed Ron towards the dusty worn dart board in the back. Harry had started a song on the jukebox, something lively and sweet before he and Hermione joined in over at a side table. 

“Prepare to go down, Malfoy.” Ron positioned himself behind a faded line drawn lazily across the stained wooden planks of the floor. 

“I believe it’s _your_ turn for that, Weasley.” Draco casually crossed his arms, timing the remark when Ron had taken his shot. His aim faltered, his focus distracted, and the dart flew across and landed outside the outer circle. Harry walked over and handed Draco a beer, high fiving him with a laugh.

“Oh, I see. You want to play dirty? We can play dirty.”

The match of darts went on for a time, the four of them hanging out in the back as the sun began to set outside. Draco hadn’t meant to stay so long, but he didn’t want to deny himself the joy of hanging out without obligations. Eventually, Ron and Draco teamed up against Harry and Hermione, playing two on two with endless rounds of drinks filling their small high top table.

“I believe the combined total puts me above you, Weasley.” Draco slurred, tallying up the points earned from the numerous rounds of darts they had played. Ron smirked back at him, his grin higher on one side of his mouth than the other.

“If that’s where you want to be.” Ron said taking another swig of his beer. “Though I prefer you underneath.”

Harry choked on his beer while Draco’s eyes widened in embarrassment, his cheeks flush.

“Alright, boys. That is enough.” Hermione tried to sound annoyed, but her smile gave her away. “Ronald, shouldn’t you be helping Hannah with her side work?”

Draco let out an unattractive laugh, a half snort tickling the back of his throat. Amusingly, Ron grinned over at him. 

“It appears Malfoy is the victor. Although, that first shot of mine should _not_ have counted.” Ron was already making his way over the bar, a waiting Hannah already standing with two large bags of trash, a smile across her blonde face. She popped her chewing gum as Ron relieved her of the bags. “It’s so dark in that back alleyway though. I’d hate to be there alone.” 

Draco rolled his eyes and snatched on of the bags from Ron.

“You’re incorrigible.”

Ron simply grinned as the two made their way towards the back door beside the bar, swinging the heavy metal open and stepping out into the chilled air outside. Ron led them to the dumpster and tossed both bags over, turning to Draco with an impish grin.

Before Draco could protest, Ron had pulled him into his arms and invaded his mouth, his lips moving in a heated kiss. Draco added to the fervor, half moaning and allowing Ron’s tongue access. Draco’s hands her tugging Ron’s jacket as Ron’s arms snaked around his waist, the two of them losing themselves in one another. 

A sound of a trashcan toppling over, metal colliding with the concrete below, made them stop their snogging, both turning their attention towards the noise. The metal trash can laid on its side, the contents of old food and papers sprawled out. Draco narrowed his eyes, instinctively reaching for a knife he kept in his pocket. Ron tugged Draco’s arm, drawing his attention back to his face and then kissed his lips again.

“It was probably just a cat, Draco. Come on.” Ron entwined his fingers with Draco’s, folding them over his knuckles and led him back inside.

More D.A.G. members occupied the expanse of the bar, spread out in different sections. A group had taken over the dart board, the empty bottles collected over Draco’s previous games with Ron, Harry, and Hermione had already gone and cleared, replaced with fresh ones. Ron accompanied Draco to the bar, once again taking a seat in his wonted chair. 

Harry joined them as Hannah served them all another round, the three of them cheersing in a half drunken toast. They were laughing when Hermione reapproached from the bathroom, listening to one of Harry’s stories from the hospital during one of his thirteen hour shifts.

Draco sat back and admired them, sipping his beer in content. He didn’t even enjoy the taste of beer, but tonight it was nectar of the gods to his taste buds, courtesy of the company he kept. He didn’t think anything in that moment could change that, could damage the morale shared among friends. He never anticipated what would happen next, the instant collision between worlds.

Halfway into another swig of his beer, his eyes locked with a pair of dark brown across the bar by the door. Frantic and scared, the owner of these eyes wore a familiar face, walking with urgency over to where Draco was sitting.

“Blaise?” Draco’s voice cracked, and he was almost embarrassed in the surprise in his tone. “W-What are you doing here?”

Blaise scanned the three sitting with Draco, then his roamed over the rest of the bar before turning his gaze back to Draco, his arm reaching out to grip tightly on Draco’s arm.

“We need to go. _Now_.”

Before Draco could react Ron was standing, sizing up Blaise with a half puff of his chest. Both Harry and Hermione followed, standing next to him with expressions of indifference, an almost uncertainty. There was a _click_ behind Draco, drawing his attention from the scene unfolding to see Hannah standing behind the bar with a pistol in her hands. Blaise released his grip on Draco, raising his hands slowly and took a step backwards.

“I’m not here to fight.” He peered over at Draco again. “But we need to get out of here.”

“How did you know I’d be here?” Of all the questions racing through Draco’s mind, he was surprised that was the question to escape his lips. He got to his feet. “Hannah for fuck sake, lower that pistol.”

Hannah complied, though reluctantly, and lowered the gun just as Ron and the others stood down from their stances. Draco took Blaise by the forearm and walked him back halfway towards the front door out of earshot.

“Draco, we have to _go_. There is no time for this.”

“What the hell are you talking about? How did you know I’d be here?” Draco hated the tinge of anger flaring in his words, but he was so confused. He’d been careful.

“I’ve been following you for some time. I know all about you and the Weasel back there.”

“Weasley.” Draco corrected without thinking. He shook his head. “Why didn’t you say anything abo-”

“Draco!” Blaise gripped Draco’s shoulders. “We can talk later. I need to get you out of here.”

“What the actual fuck, Blaise? _Why_?”

With a clenched jaw, Blaise scanned the room again, assessing the surroundings. Before answering, he peered out the door, then back to Draco. “Skullz plan on raiding the place. They are looking for those two D.A.G. boys linked to the reporter mess. Something about cleaning up loose ends.”

In horror, Draco’s eyes went wide, jerking his head over his shoulder to peer over at Ron. He was standing by the bar where he left him, watching the scene closely, his expression unreadable. He was probably as confused as Draco was. He hadn’t considered The Skullz would be so foolish, then again Riddle placed Vincent and Gregory in charge to cover up their tracks. _Row Me Oar_ wasn’t exactly a secret spot, but there were more than just D.A.G. members in here - there were innocents. 

“We have to get these people out of here, Blaise.”

Blaise scoffed in frustration, bringing both hands to the sides of his face and running them back along his short hair. He let out a groan.

“Don’t go playing hero now, Draco. I could give two _fucks_ about these people, but I can’t let anything happen to you. You want to bury your cock into a D.A.G. boy? By all means, do it, but I refuse to risk my life for these people.” His eyes were pleading, no judgement in his tone or expression, and Draco had never loved his friend more. “But _please_ , Draco. You and I need to get out befo-”

Just then the door swung open, shouts of strain and agony invaded the space as Seamus stumbled to keep Dean’s weight, carrying the bloodied up man across the bar. Harry shot from his chair immediately, helping Seamus direct Dean to a nearby table and laying him flat on his back, assessing his wounds. Hermione was at his side too, ripping his bloody shirt to locate the bullet wound while Harry went to work on extracting it. 

The entire bar was on alert, a few people had immediately vacated the bar altogether, but most gathered near where Dean was settled, watching with mixed expressions. 

“What the bloody hell happened, Sea?” Ron was there, comforting his friend as he sat frantically by the bar, tear stricken cheeks and Dean’s blood smeared on his clothes and skin. Hannah handed him a beer, and he shakily brought it to his lips before addressing Ron.

“Dunno, mate. Dean and I were leavin’ the record store, next thing I know we’ve got two Skullz pointing pistols at us. I managed to take the fat one down, but the other got away” Seamus’s eyes fell on Draco and Blaise. “The fuck is he doin’ here?” He slammed his beer back down on the bar, his eyes were fixated on Blaise. Draco stepped in front of him.

“Whoa, Sea, calm down. Blaise had nothing to do with what happened out there.”

Seamus stomped over to them, his hands in fists.

“Move aside, Romeo. Innit a coincidence your Skullz buddy shows up almost immediately after Dean and I were set upon?”

Draco’s eyes slowly shifted to Blaise knowingly, but Blaise didn’t cower back. He lifted his chin towards Seamus. Draco knew Blaise could kill the Scotsman where he stood if he wanted, and be gone before anyone knew what really happened. He was relieved to see Blaise unflex his shoulders and finally stand down.

“You’re not wrong.” He said after a short pause. He looked at Draco again, sighing. “It isn’t over either. They aim to come here next. We have to move.”

Ron rushed Blaise in an instant, pulling his shirt and getting in his face. Hermione shouted from next to Harry, who was still treating the bullet wounds. She was applying pressure while Harry expertly bandaged one wound on Dean’s side. Before Ron could say anything, Hermione’s words bellowed out.

“Ronald! That won’t accomplish _anything!_ You! Met Police.” She struggled to reach for her badge hanging around her neck and aimed it pointedly at Blaise. “Start talking! _Now_!”

“We don’t have time for this.” He took another step towards the front door. “Draco, let’s go!”

But they had lingered too long, the sounds of engines and fire flooded the outside on the opposite end of the door, the windows shattered under a rain of horizontal bullets, spreading the occupants inside the bar. Some ducked behind booths, others dropped to the floor be it willingly or not, Draco was knocked to the side, half covered by a turned over table. He reached for his gun in his holster, cocking it back. He dared to peer around the table, his face half shielded by the wooden surface. The bullets didn’t stop, another round showering the small bar from the entire front wall, leaving the chance of fleeing a fruitless option. He couldn’t see Blaise or Ron, his heart racing in his chest. 

Screams behind him made him flinch, the sounds of bullets colliding with the soft flesh of D.A.G. and innocents alike rang in his ears. Over to his right at the bar, he saw blonde hair sprawled over its surface, stained red and unmoving. 

_Dammit, Hannah_.

He tried to focus elsewhere, splinters of bullets shattering against the furniture sprayed the air around him, glassware and pictures hanging on the walls crashed to the ground in pieces, but Draco squinted his eyes against it, trying to peer out further from behind the table to search for his remaining friends. His body was frozen in place, not daring to follow the tug in his heart, urging him to run. 

After an eternity of lying there, the internal battle between common sense and a lover’s instinct, the bullets subsided, a calm after a raging hurricane. There were cries of pain, of loss, of _mourning_ , but otherwise lied perfectly still. He finally felt the strength in his feet to stand, peering over the table again. When his eyes could see over the now stained bullet ridden surface, his heart sank at the scene, finally taking in the room in full as the remnants of dust and splinters settled. His eyes scanned everything, searching every face, every body both lifeless and stirring, trying desperately to find Blaise, and Ron, hell even Harry and Hermione. 

His eyes found Hannah again first, her blonde hair settled over a pool of fresh blood, her body limp on the bartop. The next instant Ron was by his side, his leg bleeding but otherwise unscathed. He gripped Draco hard, pulling him tightly into him, his arms wrapped protectively around his waist.

“Thank God. I thought I lost you.” Ron’s words were a distant sound in his ears, the relief of knowing the man he’d grown close to over the months was okay draining with the color of his skin. His gaze fell on a body near the door, unmoving under Ron’s grip as he processed his longest known friend lying lifeless against a half broken table. A ringing in his ears became all he heard, unable to comprehend what Ron was telling him. His knees buckled, and his weight dropped from underneath him, Ron’s grip tightened, trying to hold him steady. The two of them slowly lowered to the floor, Draco lying limply against Ron’s chest as Ron settled back on his knees to support them both.

Blaise’s chest and stomach was littered with bullets, the blood stained fabrics of his clothes soaked as he sat in the center of a red pool of blood, a smeared trail in front of him as though he tried to flee after being struck. Draco couldn’t look away, his body shaking uncontrollably in Ron’s arms.

Gradually, Ron’s voice came into focus again behind the pestering ringing, the sound of Draco’s heart pounding. Draco felt his face being guided away from the sight of Blaise, Ron’s face appearing instead, pigments of red in his eyes, glistening behind a barrier of tears.

“Draco, I’m so sorry.” He leant in and kissed Draco softly on his forehead.

“Those fucking Skullz _bastards_!” A familiar Scottish accent rang louder in the bar, half sobbing. Dean’s body, still on the table before the attack, but bloodier than before. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t moving, the tears dried and meshed with the splatter of fresh blood on his cheeks. His position was vulnerable, lying unshielded on the table when the attack began. 

Draco felt himself on the verge of passing out, a nauseating lightheadedness submerging him into darkness. But Ron was there, holding him, reassuring him the only way he could. Time manipulated itself in front of Draco’s eyes, minutes or hours, maybe mere seconds blurred in front of him, hunched over Ron’s shoulder, his weight limp in his grip. He clawed at Ron’s arms, his feet sliding against the hardwood floor. 

He fought against Ron’s comforting hold, Ron allowing him the freedom to say that final farewell to his friend as he crawled, his palms and knees now stained with blood as he collapsed over Blaise’s body. A silent scream erupted in his mind, tormenting every fibre of his being. Draco’s arms wrapped themselves around the waist of Blaise, his shirt cold and soaked; stained. He could feel the wetness of blood on his face as he hugged Blaise for the last time, his tears falling onto a beatless chest. 

He closed his eyes, unsure of how long the surrounding survivors allowed him to stay there, but they didn’t disturb his mourning. He would have been thankful had the only person who ever stuck by him his entire life not been dead in his arms. It wasn’t until Ron brushed the lightest of touches on his shoulder did he open his eyes again, Ron’s freckled strained face urging him and telling him he needed to get up, to leave and get out of the bar before the police came. He didn’t move, not at first, unable to fathom leaving Blaise behind. 

_We protect each other_.

Draco was pulled up, Ron’s strong arms tugging him upward under his armpits and hugging him tightly before helping him to the door. He was saying something to Hermione, who was on her phone in tears behind them, arguing about jurisdiction while Harry lowered himself beside Blaise, closing his eyes with a gentle touch. Draco twitched under Ron’s hold, but Ron guided him outside to the car to take him home.

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

He sat alone in his flat, hiding behind the darkness and shadows that flickered against the walls, lingering on the floor with his arms resting against his knees. Ron had insisted on staying, but didn't push Draco when he insisted on being left in solitude. He was running his hands through his pale hair, fighting back anything and everything that caused the pressure behind his eyes. Blaise was gone.

Death wasn’t something new to him, that much was true. He’d seen countless lifeless bodies whose eyes had blinked their last, the colors of their irises fading as their skin grew cold. He’d felt dead himself, numb and broken inside with the facade of a hardened shell, so frail it would shatter beneath the lightest of touch. But never this. Never had he lost one of his own - one of his best friends. And never would he imagined himself being responsible.

He couldn’t imagine how Daphne would feel when she found out, Blaise being the last person who kept her in the city. Draco didn’t know if he could handle another night of her tears, sharing in the pain of losing another one from their inner circle. But it was inevitable, he owed her to hear it from him.

 _You didn’t deserve this end, Blaise_.

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**


	6. Reminiscer

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

“I never knew his death was so violent.” Goldstein had changed his tone, once again conveying a more nervous and vulnerable character. “You realize we had a tip about the incident.”

“Incident?” Draco tried to control his emotions, already feeling on edge about bringing up Blaise’s murder. “That was not just a mere incident, Goldstein, and you know it.”

Goldstein had raised his hands in front of his chest, his palms flexed towards Draco.

“Alright, Malfoy, calm down, I didn’t mean to offend. I think it best if we move on. If my memory serves me, that happened approximately six days prior to the explosion?”

“Yes.” Draco took a breath. “I took a leave of absence from my duties, but considering the relation to the deceased, there was no argument against me for taking that time.”

An unpleasant quietude settled in the room, only sound being that of a faint buzz from the single light hanging above. Draco’s eyes glassed over, tears burning behind his lids; Ron’s face came into view. He closed his eyes, thinking back to the previous night - the night of the explosion.

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

It had been almost a week since he lost Blaise, everything he knew a chaotic facade; his world cascading and crumbling, revealing the apocalyptic aftermath of hell. Draco was naive to think that would be the worse of what his life would be, unknowing to the fact he would be losing the last person on earth to keep him from burning into ash.

The warehouse had been mellow, most members scattered about the main building where games and laughs emitted a happy ambiance. It was the first time Draco had been back to the warehouse with the people who witnessed Blaise’s fall, and the last time he’d see some of their faces at all. The men and few women who bared witness to another innocent lost for nothing. 

Ron hadn’t pushed him, allowing Draco to cope and engage in handling the loss of Blaise in his own way. It was something Draco couldn’t deny being grateful for, another concept foreign to him if he was being honest. Draco didn’t show gratitude, he paid respects through means of service or duty, not acts of kindness. 

He fell into Ron’s arms the moment he saw him, both men’s grips on the other tight, a protective touch washing comfort over them both. Ron whispered in his ear, the feel of his breath tickling the hairs on Draco’s lobe and down his neck. 

“I was so worried about you.”

Then they were kissing, their lips colliding into a passionate embrace. Draco never knew anyone could help fill the void in his mind, let alone the hollow shell in his heart. But Ron was _there_ , kissing him as though it would be their last night on earth. Draco kissed him just as sweetly, tenderly, as if he actually knew it would be.

They made love that night, making up for the days apart, their hearts beating into a unisionous rhythm, a symphony of everything cliche and romantic. Their lips together sent pulsing electric shocks through Draco’s veins, awakening a side of him he never thought possible. Through all the chaos and death, the suffering and pain, Ron’s touch melted it all away, if only for the moment.

They came almost simultaneously, Draco’s name being drowned out from his own pleasure induced shout, Ron’s name sliding from his lips. Sex had never felt that way, something deeper, more connected than a usual roll between the sheets. Draco thought back to the first night in the pub, the way Ron’s eyes had affected him, the instant attraction without a single word. He should have known then Ron would be more than what he appeared. 

They laid entangled in the sheets, both breathless and satisfied. The warmth of their bodies lingered, the room stagnant and hot. Draco was staring up at the ceiling as Ron rolled over to his side, burying his face into Draco’s neck. He nipped Draco’s skin once before nuzzling fully, his eyes closed. 

Draco brought his hand up, lightly running his fingers through Ron’s hair, his eyes still planted above, the fan spinning slow, the chain hanging from the center chiming under the constant shifting of air. Draco was more content than he could have ever been, still feeling the lingering sensations of Ron’s sex, neither of them holding back and remnants sent small vibrations coursing through Draco’s body.

_I never want this to end._

The sounds outside started low, a distant call. It was nothing disconcerting at first, voices and shouts oftentimes filling the grounds outside the warehouse and quarters, but there was something off, an urgency in the cries.

Ron sat up slowly, leaning his ear towards the window to his left. Draco rose beside him, resting his chin on Ron’s shoulder as they both sat and listened to what was happening outside. It was difficult, and Ron shifted, flinging his legs over the side. Draco moaned at the chill that rose when distance was placed between them, but he propped himself on his palms. 

Suddenly, a sound of glass shattering a distant window bellowed through the warehouse, then another, and another. Each shatter grew louder, closer. They shared a glance before jumping up, Ron pulling on his pants in rapid speed. He was already bolting out the door before Draco even grabbed his shirt, and he struggled to catch up to him, tugging it down over his head as he ran.

The moment Draco stepped foot out of Ron’s room, smoke stung at his eyes, instantly causing a cough to rise in his throat. Something was burning nearby, thick dark clouds of smog filled the surrounding space. Draco lifted the back of his hand and drew it to his mouth for cover, avoiding to breathe it all in.

Part of the window in the room had been shattered, and he fell back against the wall beside it, inhaling the little fresh air coming in from the broken windowpane. He peeled back the cheap plastic blinds, staring out to evaluate the situation. Draco’s eyes widened as he took in the sight - men in black suits lined the grounds, surrounding and blocking anyone who dared to leave, chrome silver masks adorned their faces, guns in their hands. They stood unmoving along the border of the warehouse property, their bodies silhouettes against the setting sun. A few bodies were laid out on the ground, those who had the misfortune of being outside when the men arrived.

_The Skullz_.

He feared how this would end, and swiveled again to find Ron, his need to be at his side growing stronger with each rushed step he took. Draco had left to the adjacent room where Seamus was shouting Gaelic war cries and arming himself with explosives. He didn’t stop when Draco entered, though they made brief eye contact, a fury flaring through the Scottish man’s eyes and bellowing through his shouts.

The smoke was getting worse, Draco’s coughs joining other members in the warehouse around him. He knew they all had to get outside out of the smoke, but found himself hesitating despite it getting harder to breathe. The Skullz were tactful, clever, and the fact they were taunting silently outside proved they were purposely smoking everyone out on the inside. D.A.G. members were scattered about, running from room to room and arming themselves with guns. He silently prayed Ron knew another way out away from this place, to escape unnoticed and unscathed; at the very least hide. He knew it was fruitless, The Skullz soldiers completely surrounding the place and he hated himself for not knowing it would happen, for being vulnerable _again_. 

Blaise’s voice swept through him, echoing in his mind and telling him to leave, to get out of there now, but he was struck frozen in place. The last time he hesitated to save anyone aside from himself, someone close to him died. He knew he should stay, to fight, but fuck if he did not want to get out of this alive. 

A few men’s shouts caught Draco’s attention, the three men unable to cope with the smoke any longer and made to flee the warehouse from the main entrance. They were gunned down immediately upon opening the door, the sounds of bullets sinking into their soft flesh. It was too quick for them to scream or cry out, the only remaining sound being that of their bodies falling lifeless to the ground. Others nearby ran down the main hall to other rooms, others stood, stuck in their current location from fear.

_Ron, where are you_.

He ran across the room and down the short hall where most other members ran off, and he heard shouting from a familiar voice, Hermione calling out to everyone nearby and telling them to arm themselves.

“Hermione! Where’s Ron?” Draco’s voice was drowned out by the rustling of people who were pushing by him to pick up guns and ammunition from surrounding crates. He’d never known how highly supplied the warehouse had been, despite the many times he’d been here before.

Hermione didn’t look up from where she was standing, her orders barking out loudly. She was a small thing, but definitely far from frail. Cautiously, he picked up a pistol of his own and ran through a back door, leaving Hermione to her work with the other D.A.G. members.

The hall narrowed, dead ending to a large metal door. Hesitantly, he pushed it open, gun at the ready, uncertain what laid on the other side. When he found Ron gathering people to a bunker-like room away from the smoke and windows, a sigh of relief washed over him. Ron’s face softened when he met Draco’s gaze, and walked towards him.

“Thank God. I thought you were right behind me!” Despite the danger and madness, Ron pulled Draco in for a quick kiss, alleviation washing over Draco almost instantly as Ron pulled away, his slanted grin planted handsomely on his face. Then, he turned back to some of the people he was directing to safety. Draco took them in for the first time, recognizing some of them from the bar at the attack, wounded and bandaged up or limping out of the way. 

“Close that door to block the smoke. This room seals, so you all should be safe in here.” Ron was saying as he addressed the few dozen people unfit to fight. Draco began closing the door, and found himself hoping Ron would want to stay in here too, to help look after the injured should they need anything, but the look he gave him once they locked eyes again proved Ron had other plans.

“I’m going to try and clear a path out of here.”

“What? No! Ron, that’s suicide!” Draco’s voice cracked and he gripped his shoulders, trying to talk reason into his lover.

“Draco we will all die here if we don’t. Somebody has to try. I need you to get everyone else in here.”

“But why does it have to be you?” Draco shamelessly felt his eyes burning, this time unable to blame the smoke. Ron gently placed both hands on either side of Draco’s cheeks, smiling reassuringly. 

“I’ll come back to you.”

“No he won’t, Romeo, and if you believe he will yer a bigger fool than I thought ya ta be.” Seamus had entered through the door loaded down with dynamite and other explosives. “Let me go. I know what to do.”

Ron took a step towards Seamus, but Draco quickly placed a halting hand on his chest, looking at him pleadingly. He knew what was running through Seamus’ mind, or at least he had a strong guess - the man wanted to avenge Dean, willing to risk his own life to do it, no longer caring if he lived or died. Ron hesitated only for a moment, then peered into Draco’s eyes.

“I’ll go with you, Sea,” he said, his eyes locked into Draco’s gray orbs. “You’re going to need help.” Ron took Draco’s hand up into his, the one he had placed on his chest and kissed his knuckles sweetly before chasing after Seamus. Draco stood for a solid sixty seconds before marching out of the room after them, cursing as he went.

More D.A.G. members flooded the rooms and hallway, all armed with guns. Seamus was a short distance away with Ron right behind him, leading them back towards the entrance where those unsuspecting D.A.G. boys fell. With a quickness, Seamus had lit two sticks of dynamite and was throwing them both as hard as he could out the door as he slipped by the still open frame, a few stray bullets hitting the hall behind them. 

“Bloody cowards!” Seamus shouted again, tossing a grenade. The distance was too great to aim for the shooters, but he managed to take out a few men to the right, breaking their line. The small destruction caused a shower of bullets to ring out, the three of them dropping and hitting the ground fast when the bullets shattered through what was left of the windows. Ron had grabbed Draco on the way down, their hands holding and his body half lying protectively on top of Draco. “Keep yer arses down. I’m about ta do something stupid.”

Ron shifted to his knees in an instant, tugging Seamus at the back of the coat. Draco could see the desperation in his lover’s eyes, pleading with him to stay. Seamus gave a silent salute, shoving Ron’s hands away and pushing him back before digging his hands into his pockets, pulling out two large grenades. Flicking the pins, he ran out the door, shouting more Gaelic. As he tossed the grenades towards The Skullz soldiers standing about, Ron and Draco heard his shout. “This is fer Dean ya fuckin bastards!”

Ron moved to the other side of the door, watching helplessly as his friend was shot multiple times. Draco slammed his head back down to the floor, covering his ears with his hands as loud _pops_ exploded into the masked men’s faces, a gory event for even the toughest stomachs of men. Seamus hit the ground half breathing, struggling to pull something from his coat.

_Omg the explosives_.

Draco thought back to his first encounter with Seamus at the start of the attack, loading manmade explosives into his coat and vest pockets. 

“Ron! He’s trying to blow himself up!” Draco’s voice sounded panicked, and Ron’s head jerked back to Seamus again, his weak hand struggling shakily to ignite the charges on his body. “He’s too close to the warehouse!”

“Get back!” Ron shouted, pulling Draco up at the back of his shirt at the neck, shoving him out towards the hallway where they came. Draco didn’t hesitate, thinking Ron was right behind him. Halfway down the hall he turned, watching as Ron steadied his pistol, aiming it at Seamus. He could see Ron’s lips moving, a silent goodbye to his dying friend before he pulled the trigger.

The explosion instantly shook the walls, heat and fire ignited from the direction he was in. He dropped back onto his stomach, using his arms to cover his head as a part of the ceiling gave way, one of the metal beams from above landing hard on Draco’s shoulder. The material singed his shirt, and he struggled to remove the beam altogether. 

He looked back at where Ron had shoved him, a wall of flames engulfing the low frame where the walls once stood, but Ron was nowhere in sight.

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

Draco studied officer Goldstein through hooded, narrow eyes. Sweat had formed on the young officer’s brow, and he fiddled endlessly with the handle of his gun in it’s holster. Draco knew then he had shared too much with this man, the inevitable consequences smiling sinisterly back at him through the reflection of the mirror on the wall.

“I appreciate your cooperation, Mr Malfoy,” said Goldstein, standing abruptly from the table. His metal chair scraped loudly across the cold, concrete floor, and he made his way towards the door. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I need to speak with my partner. Don’t, uh… Don’t move.”

“Officer Goldstein, if I may,” Draco’s tone was collected, and he flicked his eyes to meet the officer’s directly. “You’ve heard my statement. I gave you everything, willingly signing my life over to you. I don’t know what the administration has over you, Goldstein, but are you not willing to do the same?”

Officer Goldstein visibly swallowed, his mouth a tight clenched line. He didn’t respond at first, just as Draco knew he wouldn’t, but silently knocked on the door. Before he left, however, he turned back to Draco with a sincere gaze, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his keys. Draco watched as the officer leant down and released Draco’s wrist from the handcuff’s restraint.

Draco peered down, bringing his other hand up and rubbing where the metal once dug into his flesh, wearing a red ringed bruise around his wrist like a bracelet. Goldstein had placed a tentative hand upon his shoulder, giving Draco a faint squeeze before turning to the door once more, not peering back when he finally left the room.

Draco’s eyes scanned the interrogation room, his hands trembling and balled up into tight fists. Abruptly he flung both hands down on the table, the metal colliding with his fists causing a loud and echoing _slam_. Tears welled up in his eyes, but they didn’t quite fall. His breathing was erratic, staggered chokes of threatening sobs in the back of his throat, and he let out a scream, walking towards the mirrored window on the opposing wall, slamming his fists against the glass.

“Are you happy now?” He heard the crack in his voice as he shouted at his own reflection. “You fucking coward! You’ve lost _everything_!”

Draco thrashed against the mirror again, the pain from the loss colliding hard with the anger he felt within himself. He never got the chance to make tomorrow better than the today he resented himself for living in, never took that courageous risk to just _leave_. He thought by staying, by laying lower under the radar for so many years he’d have enough time to execute a plan. Instead, those choices ricocheted like bullets against a concrete wall, destroying anything and everything in their way. 

Draco found himself leant hard against the mirror, his forehead pressed to the glass while his palms lay flat on either side, finally allowing the tears he’d been holding in to fall. He wanted to be strong for Ron, for Blaise, for all of those caught up in the bullet's’ path along the way. He could feel the wetness on his cheeks, the pulling on his skin as the salty tears rolled smoothly down his cheeks. His haunting dark reflection glared back at him, his eyes a deep red within the blackness of the glass reflection. 

He’d never been much for unwanted attention, but he’d never felt more alone in his life than he did in this moment, the revelation of Death coming to claim his life any moment. Draco and Ron had shared so much of themselves only to have it ripped away from them. Draco wanted to scream some more, wanted to shout every hateful thing he could muster, but his voice failed to allow him the satisfaction, no sound emitting past his lips aside from the sporadic breaths and sobs.

“I love you, Ron.”

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**


	7. Waster

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

Draco’s chest felt heavy, an almost fullness within his caged heart after spilling everything he knew to Goldstein. Ron would have been proud of him for finally taking a stand and not cowering behind the shadows of his betters. He peered over at the mirror once more, furrowing his brow and wondering which face he would see behind it.

He wasn’t scared anymore, hating himself more than any man - or _woman_ \- could ever hate him. He was done caring about secrecy, no longer having a reason to hide his feelings. Ron was dead, his best friend was dead. Daphne was gone and he hoped she will make it. Prayed she would be able to live her life without giving up like he did. He felt for her, knowing she understood exactly what it meant to live without your other half, her and Blaise meeting in secret the way he and Ron had. It wasn’t as dangerous, but given his status and connection to The Skullz, his _obligation_ to them through means of his parents, Draco knew they would never be able to enjoy the life they wanted together. Just as he and Ron would never know. Talking and doing are two entirely different things, and their connection to one another was a means to an end.

All Draco could hope for now was that Goldstein would have a bigger conscious than the size of his wallet, denounce whatever claim The Skullz had hold of him to right all the things that have been wronged. To avenge all those innocents who had fallen along the way to lead them where they are now. Dumbledore’s Army Gang weren’t the criminals, _The Skullz_ were. Draco was never a hero, wasn’t one to leap in front of a wall of bullets to save the day. His natural instinct was always survival, it was how he and his friends had managed for so long, but even they couldn’t have foreseen the events over the last few months. Realistically he knew no one could.

Draco paced the empty room, rubbing his wrist where the sensation of the handcuffs still lingered, a phantom digging into his flesh. He winced, a red ringed bracelet of irritation faintly scarring over. He continued to move about the room, walking from one end to the other as he waited for his fate. He wondered if Goldstein truly had the balls to stand up to the tyrants behind the glass.

The door opened, swinging with a faint creak as a man stepped into the room behind Draco, causing him to stop in his tracks. Draco met the man’s eyes and he felt his knees buckle and he almost didn’t have the strength to stand anymore.

 _Oh no_.

Draco’s silver threaded irises widened under the intense blue of a storm forming in his friend’s gaze. Out of all the faces he’d expect to lead him to his fate, Theo was not among them. He felt his legs tremble again, braving the two step distance to the table, leaning his weight against the metal surface. The friends stood in silence, neither appearing to find the words to begin the inevitable. Draco licked his lips, his mouth dry. He silently prayed to wake up from this lingering nightmare, the final blow being too much on top of everything else. He was already emotionally defeated, but this revelation damn near made him want to pull the trigger himself.

“Draco.” Theo said finally as he took a seat in the chair Draco had previously been handcuffed to. It was ironic, his only living friend remaining sitting in the chair where Draco sealed his end. Draco hadn’t moved; _couldn’t_ move from his position, though his mind raced with so many questions.

“Theo I-”

Draco’s words were cut off, Theo throwing his hand up to silence him. Draco let out a breath, partially thankful his friend would do most of the talking, though he still had to much he needed to know.

“I’m only here to finish this.” Theo shifted, resting an ankle across his knee as he casually leant forward to reach at his belt, tugging his pistol. He laid it on the table’s surface, along with a separate suppressor beside it. Without looking Draco’s way, he reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a pack of cigarettes. He flippantly draws a single cigarette from the pack and raises it slowly to his lips, lighting it with a quick flick of his lighter. Draco watched uneasily, knowing the series of movements Theo was known for before adding a mark to his list of hits. He didn’t miss the fresh blood on his sleeve.

“W-Why you?” Draco was almost embarrassed at the crack in his voice as he spoke, but he swallowed it down, preparing himself for Theo’s response.

“While you and Blaise were gallivanting around, I kept watch and did what I was told.” Theo exhaled a large cloud of smoke towards Draco. When it reached his eyes, he felt the sting as he refused to blink, denying Theo the satisfaction.

“Gallivanting? Theo they fucking _murdered_ Tori!”

“Enough.” Theo stood, but didn’t go far, guarding the table where he left his gun on its surface, but Draco had a hunch he knew Draco wouldn’t fight him for it. Not now. Theo’s face softened ever so slightly and he let out a breath. “I’ll make it quick, okay?”

Draco scoffed at that. Theo was always quick, not to mention clean with his kills. It’s why the noticeable blood on his sleeve was so off putting.

“You owe me some clarity first.”

“I owe you _nothing_ , Draco.” Theo flicked his cigarette to the side, the butt of it bouncing off the far wall, spilling embers on the floor. He turned and picked up his pistol then, checking to ensure the safety was locked before adding the suppressor to the end. The clicking of the chamber caused an involuntary flinch from Draco.

“Theo,” he said, trying to find his childhood friend somewhere under the layers of the mafia soldier. “Just tell me you didn’t have anything to do with Tori’s death. Or the Parkinsons?”

A laughter echoed across the room, causing a sinister reply to bounce off the vacant walls. Theo tapped his gun against his shoulder, shaking his head. His tongue was resting against his bottom lip, and Draco could see him contemplating his questions.

“You really were as clueless as she said you’d be.”

“You’re here on _her_ behalf? Not Riddle’s?” Draco’s eyes widened and he knew he wasn’t as careful as he thought he had been. There were eyes and ears all over the city, yet he still thought he could slip through the cracks unseen. He flexed his jaw.

“Riddle is dead.” Theo said sitting back down in a more casual movement. He locked the safety back on his gun as he set it down again on the table. Lighting another cigarette, he leant back in his chair. “There had been some _side_ jobs going down behind our backs, Draco.”

“Side jobs? You mean within The Skullz?”

“I see no harm in telling you.” He stole another drag of his cigarette. “Riddle was becoming reckless. It was on _his_ orders that got Tori killed. Stupid girl.”

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

The elevator hummed with a faint ding as the doors slid open to the top floor, a pair of elegant heels stepping out onto the marble. Swift clicks purposefully made haste across the room towards the grand, double oak doors of the main office, an empty desk lay neat and vacant to the side of them, the receptionist long since gone for the day. There was only one man remaining in the building, separated only by the doors currently being swung open.

The man inside didn’t even flinch, his feet propped up on the desk as he sat back in his large leather chair, a cigar hanging casually from his lips. He blew rings as the woman approached, and his cracked dry lips grinned behind the thick paper of the cigar.

“Hello, Tom.” The smooth voice from the doorframe was calm. “I assume you know why I’m here.” A perfectly arched eyebrow rose as manicured hands crossed over a large and full chest.

The man sat silently, puffing his cigar with a bored expression, ignoring the woman by the door. The owner of the voice sauntered slowly across the room to the desk, propping herself against it. Her long thin legs crossed at the ankles as another entered the room, his footsteps so quiet Tom had missed them completely. He watched in surprise as the man slowly closed the door behind him, standing with his hands rested and cupped in front of him.

“You remember Theodore, don’t you, Tom?” The woman presented a flippant hand in her younger confidant’s direction, extending her fingers while her eyes remained locked on Tom Riddle’s face. “He’s a most exquisite creature, is he not? And he’s been keeping an extra close watch on all you boys for me.”

Tom’s eyes searched the room, assessing the situation. He mentally calculated the probability of him getting out of this predicament, betting all odds against the she-devil and her close proximity. His eyes darted quickly towards the bottom of his desk, eyeing a pistol secured underneath the center in clear view, inches from his grasp. His fingers twitched as he finally removed the cigar from his lips, bringing it down to the ashtray so both hands were in reaching distance should the need occur.

“I wouldn’t consider pulling that gun, Tom. Theodore is far faster with a trigger than you are, I assure you.”

After a long moment of silence from both parties in the room, Tom let out a sinister laugh, his hands raising into the air in mock surrender, playing off the fact he’s clearly at the disadvantage.

“Theodore. I should have known.” Tom wiggled his finger to the younger man in front of the door, who hadn’t moved a muscle since he entered. Then, his eyes flicked to the woman sitting before him. “And what has your little pet been telling you, hmm?” He spat at the woman’s feet, leaning closer to her in his chair. As he did, the woman’s lips curled into a wicked smile.

“Now, Tom. Nothing you aren’t going to tell me yourself. Isn’t that right?” She reached for him then, her grip firm under his chin, her nails digging into his cheeks as she held his head securely, her jaw clenched. “And you will tell me everything.”

“What do you want me to say, huh?” Tom jerked his face from her grasp, one of her nails cutting the lower right cheek. “You want me to tell you how I worked to get you out? Your organization should have been mine. I worked my way up that damn ladder for years only to have you come in and spread your legs for the last what-,” he paused in faux thought. “How many has it been now? Three? _Four bosses_? Hmm? You want me to say what I thought as I watched your idiotic son die -”

Tom’s words were interrupted by the sound of the woman’s hand slicing through the air and slapping him hard on his cheek, causing the room to fall silent once more. Theo took a firm step forward.

 _“Mr_ Riddle, I urge you to take caution on the choosing of your next words.” The woman returned to her posture of elegance, crossing her legs once more and sitting perfectly straight against the desk. “My son was never a pawn for you to play in your little game. And for that alone I should have Theo here kill you where you sit.”

Tom let out a disdainful scoff.

“ _Mrs_ Zabini! You’ve ordered him to kill me anyway, yes? Might as well try to get it over with.”

“Only when he’s told,” she began, gesturing for Theo to approach her side. “But not before you tell me why you thought it wise to challenge me in the first place.” She gestured again with a jerk of her head and this time Theo lunged forward, holding the barrel of his pistol and brought the heavy metal handle to Tom’s nose, a satisfying _crack_  sounded under the brute force. When Theo pulled up to hit him again, blood was already trickling from Tom’s nostril.

Tom flicked his eyes from where Theo held him, then to Mrs Zabini holding an expression somewhere between fear and anger. He wasn't afraid of her, but he knew he didn’t want to die. His plans of ending her life were strong enough, and he was pissed the current situation wasn’t reversed. He brought a hand up to his nose as Theo backed away.

“You bitch. This organization should have been mine!”

“Yes, yes, you mentioned that.” Zabini pushed herself off the desk and paced around it, finally resting her palms on the desk’s surface, leant over on the opposing side so she could face him fully. “The explosion was your doing I imagine?”

“Among other things.”

“For fuck sake, Tom, I don’t have all day. I still have another matter to attend to after this and I’d rather not be inconvenienced with your games. Shall I elaborate for you?”

Tom didn’t respond, instead he seethed where he sat. He wasn’t being fully restrained, but Theo was standing close, a firm hand on his shoulder and he wasn’t able to react - and live. He snarled, refusing to answer.

“You always were one for dramatics, Tom.” She stood up straight and let out a breath. “The night of the gala you knew we needed the Parkinsons’ cooperation to gain control of the pharmaceutical trades, however, rather than wait for my fully executed plan as we all discussed, you decided to take matters into your own hands.” She crossed her arms over her chest, baiting him, her expression growing harder with each second he chose not to comply. “So you took an easy way out, using some of _my_ soldiers to do it. It’s one thing to have murdered them behind closed doors but you had to go and make a public event about it. And dragging D.A.G. into it when we had a truce was absolutely foolish.”

“That truce ended the day your latest husband died. You never should have interfered.” Zabini ignored the undermined remark, releasing another exasperated breath.

“From there you went after the reporter for his article on the body found on the trash truck. _Also_ involving the D.A.G. with your half thought out love triangle nonsense. Crabb and Goyle were excellent shots, but off the field they weren’t exactly the sharpest blades in the block. They’re good for small grunt work. Nothing more.”

“That bloody reporter had dirt on us all. Including you! I did you a favor.”

“And I thank you for that, truly, but you foolishly killed one of our own in the process, not to mention you got that cretin Dolohov involved! The man is a loose cannon as it is.”

Tom stood abruptly then, shaking off Theo’s hold from his shoulder long enough to make it to his feet. He was breathing hard and heavy as he stared down at Zabini. Tom’s shoulder was only free from Theo’s hold for that mere few seconds before it was back on him again in an instant, holding him firmly in place.

“I did everything I could to cover both our asses!”

“That’s just it, Tom. Your actions alone caused a whirlwind of destruction and now you alone will pay for your incompetence. I was wrong to trust you in my absence. A mistake I assure you I won’t make again.” Her eyes trailed to Theo and she smiled almost sweetly. “I know where true loyalty lies.”

With another jerk of her head, Theo shoved Tom back into his chair, holding him down as he whipped him with the stock of his gun again. Zabini watched intently, appearing to enjoy the way Tom crumbled under Theo’s brute force.

“You’ll get yours, bitch.” Blood slid down Tom’s lip as he spoke. “You think knowing your son was at the bar slowed me down?” His head staggeringly drug up her body and into her eyes. “No. It only sealed the order all the faster.”

Before Theo could aim his gun, Zabini had fired two shots into the soft flesh of Tom Riddle - one to his forehead and the other through the chest. Blood splashed onto Theo’s shirt, leaving spots of red on his sleeve. Theo had glanced down at the gun in her hands, noticing the pistol beneath the desk’s surface was no longer resting in its holster.

“Leave him,” she said wiping the fingerprints from the pistol in her hands using a cloth. She secured the gun back to the desk. “I’ll call in a favor in the morning.”

“Why the urgency?” Theo had spoken up for the first time since their visit to The Skullz administrative building, following in step with Zabini, who was headed for the door towards the elevators.

“You and I need to head down to the police station. Goldstein has something I need.” She was walking more swiftly now, checking the expensive and delicate watch on her thin wrist.

“With all due respect, but what could he possibly have that you’d want?” He stopped abruptly, narrowly missing running into Zabini when she abruptly stopped to spin back to face him. She appeared to ponder how to ask her next question.

“Theodore, when was the last time you saw your friend, Draco?”

Theo’s eyes narrowed in thought, trying to pinpoint when the last he spoke or saw Draco had been. His friend had been scarce lately, but he knew Blaise's death hit him harder than most, but Theo knew he had been sneaking off prior on occasion. He hadn't thought much on it considering the fact he was Zabini’s personal errand boy.

“Goldstein has him. He survived the explosion last night.”

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

“All you had to do was follow orders.” Theo’s hand curled into a fist, pounding once on the table. The force of it caused Draco to sway where he stood, stunned at his friend’s swift change in reaction, as if the final line from Zabini caused Theo to snap. But above the anger, Draco could have sworn Theo’s eyes held of tinge of redness to them. “Why did you have to go sneaking around? Why couldn’t you just stick to the facts?”

“ _Facts_?” Draco’s face grew hot; angry, and he chose to focus on his friend’s tone. “And what do you consider _facts_ , Theo? Nothing The Skullz have told us has been the truth! Everything we have fought for was misleading and _lies _.”__ Draco tried to calm his breathing. He wasn’t mad at Theo. He couldn’t be. Surely his friend was just as lost as he was - as they all were. “You said yourself Riddle knew Blaise was at the bar that night. You can’t think his death was an accident.”

Theo tensed, his jaw flexing under Draco’s gaze as he sat in silence. There was something else in his eyes, something Draco couldn’t quite place, and he chanced moving to take a seat in the empty chair.

“Blaise should never have been at that bar and you know it.” Theo’s tone was gradually building, the heat of his angered glare piercing Draco with every blink. “I tried to stop him. He was only there because of _you_!”

The guilt Draco had felt that night at the pub came rushing back to him in full force, his eyes burning with the threat of tears once more. He had grown numb from so much over the past few months, and Blaise’s death was another loss he knew he could have prevented had he not been so reckless. Draco allowed his face to fall, the pain of Blaise’s memory combined with the ill laced blame from Theo’s lips was just too much for him to argue against anymore.

“I-I know that.”

Theo’s eyebrows rose, momentarily losing his fire. But it didn’t last long, his eyes narrowing to almost slits. Then, slowly, his shoulders slumped. It was like watching Jekyll and Hyde, fighting over two sides of himself.

“Why didn’t you trust me?”

“What?” Draco cocked a single eyebrow, uncertain what he meant. “Trust you? Trust you with wha-”

“That you were with _him_! The D.A.G. clown!” Theo’s voice was elevated, the sounds shouting back off the vacant walls angrily.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Draco’s mind was raging with different emotions - anger, fear, frustration. He stood to pace the room, his fingers to his temples. “You are literally sitting here about to put a bullet to my head and you’re pissed for not telling you who’s _dick_ I’ve been sucking off?”

Theo flipped the chair, causing Draco to jolt where he stood. He hadn’t seen Theo this mad since they were kids, an outburst brought on by loss and pain. Draco was stunned into silence, holding his hands out in front of him to try and calm his friend.

“You _never_ trusted me! It was always you and Blaise for everything! And I would just follow along with anything you both said. Quiet little Theo - the ever faithful.” Theo had picked up his gun sometime during his outburst, waving it around as water built behind his eyes. Draco could see the glisten of tears, a single stream falling from one of his cheeks. Draco was backed against the wall where the mirror was, unable to find the words needed to calm him. It wouldn’t have mattered anymore anyway.

“You know, there is still one thing I don’t get though.” Theo had stopped halfway from the table to where Draco was standing and dropped his hand, his arms lying limp by his sides, the gun dangling loosely. “You’re a _rat_ , Draco! And the biggest threat to the administration now that Riddle is dead.”

“Zabini has you doing all her biddings? She can’t even keep the order in our own organization and you think she will protect you? Blaise and I protected you, Theo! We will _always_ protect you!”

Theo cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, raising the gun slowly in Draco’s direction. He looked him in the eyes, his voice cracked through quivering lips.

“You and Blaise are both dead now.” He was about to pull the trigger when a laugh tugged the back of his throat, allowing his arm to bend, the gun aiming towards the ceiling. “With all this excitement I almost forgot to tell you.”

“I think I’ve heard enough.” Draco drug his back down the wall, lowering himself to a sitting position. He was looking up at Theo defeated, a blank expression on borrowed time.

“No, I think you’d want to hear this.”

“I never knew you to be so _chatty_ , Theo, you’re just the quiet loyal dog after all, right?” Draco’s legs slid down, sprawled out straight in front of him, his hands laid limply in his lap.

“You truly are an ass, you know that?” The words resonated in his ears and it all made sense. He had been so distracted with Ron, trying to find some smidge of happiness, he missed the details of the proper danger, tossed blame on the wrong man.

“Just fitting in with the crowd.” Draco rested his head back, waiting for it all to end, silently pleading to just stop all of the chaos so he could be reunited with Ron again. It was the only peace he had left, knowing despite the entirety of the madness, he will have Ron in his arms. His embrace, that stupid and charming grin; the waves of blue in his eyes Draco could never get enough of.

“Draco,” Theo said, watching him intently as a smile ghosted his lips. Draco was convinced his friend had finally cracked, was truly gone for good in a point of no coming back. He begged for him to stop, for it to be finally over. “Ron is _alive_.”

Draco’s eyes opened wide and he jolted on the spot. It was over too quick, the last thing Draco seeing being the barrel of the gun in his friend’s hand, the suppressor swift and quiet, allowing no sound to linger. Then the world went black.

 

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**


	8. Epilogue

**⁍ ☠ ⁌**

Tears fell in streams down his cheeks as he fought to watch his lover through the blurriness of his eyes. His hands were tied and secured to the chair, a gag around his mouth. He had burns that needed healing, scars to be mended, but no acts were made to ensure he would be safe at the end of this, no guarantees he would walk away from his captors. He had thought himself a deadman already, laying alone amongst the chaos and smoke just two nights before.

The pain surging from his wounds was nothing compared to the stabbing in his heart, his lover’s face holding strong against false accusations and blatant manipulation. Ron sat, fighting against his restraints, biting down hard on his gag and trying desperately to get Draco’s attention. He knew it was fruitless, but he had to try. Draco was literally talking himself into his grave and it was all because of him. The bitch of a woman had lied, telling the officer interrogating Draco he was dead. Perhaps he was, conceivably feeling less and less alive with every word of Draco’s confessions. 

The gag tasted of blood, realizing too late his lip was bleeding, the metallic taste filling his mouth as he fought against the fabric. He had to scream, had to let Draco know to stop and run, regardless of the odds. Finally after several failed attempts to extract it, Ron felt the gag slip down, and he maneuvered his head so the fabric could fall under his chin. 

“Draco! Draco, _stop_!” 

Theo was there with a quickness, hitting him hard in the jaw with his elbow to silence him. The gag was back over his mouth before he could get another word out, wrapped tighter than before and jabbing harder against the cut on his lip. The woman beside him quirked an elegant eyebrow, but otherwise remained quiet and still, watching him look through the glass at Draco. He only looked her in the eyes once while the gag was positioned back, turning his gaze over to Draco again with his bruised cheeks wet with tears. He hadn’t known how long he had been crying, just that his eyes couldn’t stop.

_Get out of there you bastard_.

His body grew numb and broken, his eyes fixated on the torturous scene playing out before him, unfolding in such a way. He knew how it would end, he saw the gun Theo had in possession, the snippets of hushed conversations between him and the woman regarding _risks_ and _you know what you have to do_. 

The scene played on, lingered in such a way Ron’s eyes grew all the more tired and worn, too exhausted to control the tears that persisted to fall. His eyes burned, too determined to stay focused on Draco as long as he could, squinting against the burn continuously lingering behind his eyes, fueled with the determination for Draco to hear him, to know he’s not as alone as he believes, and that he was sorry. 

They could hear every word Draco spilled from his lips, every crack or angry shout, all of it while they laid in waiting in that insufferable small room, staring out through the large window. His body was cramped, his throat swollen. The walls felt as though they were closing in around him, the pressure of the roof appearing to suffocate him, the air thinning around him, and growing harder to take a breath. He hated himself for not having the strength then to get up sooner, for allowing Draco to be dragged off away, to leave his side without saying goodbye. A _real_ goodbye. 

“Untie his bonds, Theodore.” The woman had said to Ron’s right. Both Ron and Theo’s eyes darted to the woman in surprise. Theo had gone through large measures to keep Ron tied down and gagged, to avoid interfering with anything going on in the adjacent room, he was shocked to discover he’d be released to freely now.

“It doesn't matter now. We have what we need.” She stood then, her tall, slender legs walking towards the only exit in the small room. She peered over her shoulder, a malicious smirk across her pretty features as she stared out through the mirror. Ron followed her gaze, watching and listening as Goldstein got up to leave one final time. As the officer undid Draco’s handcuff, Theo worked Ron’s bonds, both of them simultaneously rubbing their wrists.

“Meet me at the car once it’s finished.”

Ron’s eyes went wide, and he made to go after the woman, only to have Theo step in front of him again, his hands darting out and shoving Ron to the ground on his back before exiting the room, locking Ron alone inside. His limbs were sore and burned from his wounds, and he laid there staring up at the ceiling.

It wasn’t until Draco screamed, the loud vibrating _slam_ of his fists hitting the glass, did Ron look back over to the mirror again. He stumbled, but he managed to get to his feet, walking clumsily towards the glass where Draco was waiting. There, his lover stood with his head pressed firmly to the glass, his palms raised up on either side, holding his weight against the wall. Draco peered through the blackened mirror, staring unknowingly at Ron, tears falling from his eyes. Ron slowly raised a shaky hand to his side of the glass, gently pressing his palm evenly to Draco’s on the opposite side, leaning close to rest his forehead against his. He was crying again, borderline sobbing. This wasn’t what either of them had planned for each other. For _any_ of them. 

Whispered words were muttered, faint and almost hard to make out. Draco’s plea fogging up the glass with each syllable of his confession, the desperation of needing to be heard, but the misconception of believing them to fall on deaf ears. The look upon Draco’s face bore splinters into his chest, Ron’s expression equally lost, longing to somehow break through the barrier separating them.

And when Theo entered the room, Ron felt his heart drop into his stomach, the horrifying revelation on Draco’s face driving the dagger into the flesh of his gut. He was completely helpless as Theo told Draco everything, _almost_ everything. He wondered if he would allow Draco the peace of thinking he was dead, granting his friend one final wish.

The anger from the other room grew, contentions spreading like wildfire, the tension so large even Ron could feel it where he stood, knowing now he his wish was something that would never come. Ron pounded on the glass with his fists, his body exhaustedly trying to hold him back as he clawed recklessly on the glass, shouting Draco’s name. Draco was going to know either way and Ron wanted his lover to hear he was alive from him, not his executioner. 

Ron slammed his shoulder against the mirror to no avail, his face scrunched into an emotional mess, screaming out against the pain from the impact the glass had on his wounds. He didn’t care, he’d fight through a hell of a lot more than burns on his arms if it meant he and Draco had a chance for one last farewell. He cursed the woman, his captor, for allowing them both to suffer this way, her point long since made.

_Give us fucking mercy._

He heard Theo’s laugh through the intercom, Ron’s fight against the glass pausing enough for him to face the glass, his face pressed hard against it, the heat of his tears and breath causing the condensation to fog his view, but he never stopped screaming. Draco had slid to the floor defeated and broken, but Ron’s desperation to reach him never faltered, his emotionally charged internal strength rallied against the depreciation taking over his body. 

Theo’s gun was raised towards Draco’s head, his final words slipping from his mouth like a snake, swift and true. As the silent shot ignited from the barrel, striking true to its target, Ron could hear it in his chest, the feeling of his heart shattering and turning to dust. His cries fell silent, the force of impact too strong for him to breathe. 

Those last milliseconds of Draco’s life, the cruelest betrayal from an enemy behind a luring mask. Ron couldn’t see his face, his back facing him in those final moments. Ron didn’t need to see it, _couldn’t_ see it, but he knew by the instant change in Draco’s posture, the jolt in his movements, Draco had wished he could take it all back; that he regretted everything. No, not everything. Ron finally allowed his body to give, a ringing in his ears and a hollowness where his heart once beat now lay empty under a cage of bones. He slid down the wall as Draco’s body fell forward lifeless, Ron hit the floor on his knees, arms limp with knuckles cracked, swollen and bloody. His eyes fluttered closed.

“I love you too Draco.”

**⁍ ☠ ⁌ ⁍ ☠ ⁌ ⁍ ☠ ⁌**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to show your appreciation for the author via kudos/comments below. ♥
> 
> This story is part of Ron/Draco Fest 2019, a currently ongoing anonymous fest. The author will be revealed in late March.


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